


Robert's Nightmare

by TheMostAugustCaesar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, R Plus L Equals J, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMostAugustCaesar/pseuds/TheMostAugustCaesar
Summary: Dragons and his friend hiding the son of his worst enemy. Even in his worst nightmares, Robert Baratheon didn't ever imagine this.Jon has been king for 19 years, he thought he could finally rest in death, his family had other plans.





	1. Catelyn I

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sithspawns The Raven's Plan, Nerdyshirt's The Hour of the Wolf and SleepyMoons A Time For Dragons for inspiration for this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfiction. I'd welcome any criticism, thoughts or ideas. Chapter 2 is currently in the works but University work is in the way but expect it within the fortnight but most likely some time next week.

 

**“Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.” Quaithe to Daenerys, A Clash of Kings, Chapter 27, Daenerys II**

**Catelyn I**

“We have been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait?” the Queen said coldly. There was no love between the royal couple, Catelyn thought.

The King ignored the Queen, seeming to not care for her opinion in the slightest and started walking towards the crypts. Before the king could take a step forward, two large terrifying roars rang out. She at first thought that her imagination was playing tricks on her. The roars reverberated across the entire castle echoing around the walls and she felt them reverberate through her, it was the loudest sound she had ever heard. It sent shivers down her spine. Ned’s hand gripped her hand tightly. Everyone jumped at the sound before freezing in their place, shocked by what they heard. The hands of the Guards went to the pommel of their swords.

A moment later, two large shadows appeared on the ground, they were so large that all of Winterfell was covered by them. She dares not look up in trepidation of confirming her fears. She heard a sound like something impacting the ground coming from the great keep, like something landing. She tried to not look. But her body betrayed her.

A dragon. A live dragon. A huge live black dragon. Her mind went immediately to the stories she read as a child of Balerion the Black Dread and the tales of cities covered under the shadow of his wingspan and of course, the living reminder of his power at Harrenhal, in her homeland. She heard the sound of a second landing on the library tower. She willed her eyes not to look but once again her body betrayed her. Another dragon. This one was green and slightly smaller but still massive, the library tower was straining against its weight. Creaking, as it readjusted to its new owner. On top of the green dragon, she could make out a multitude of figures which added to her fears, only Targaryens could ride dragons. The royal house that both her families had helped overthrow. The dragons were meant to be all dead, there hasn’t been one alive since Aegon III but now there were two live fully-grown ones at Winterfell, her home, in front of her.

No one dared move or say anything lest the situation that was apparent, suddenly became real. The King was standing still, wide eyed and gaping at the huge black dragon. For the first time, she thought she saw a look of dread in Robert Baratheon’s eyes, dread and fear. The Demon of the Trident disappeared and a scared boy who lost his parents at sea had returned.

The return of the dragons shook something within her. Fear was building inside her, not just for herself, Ned and her children but for the future of House Tully. House Targaryen were the house that elevated them from the mere Lords of Riverrun and its surrounding area, to the Lord Paramount of the Trident because they were the first house under her ancestor Edmyn, who rose in rebellion against Harren the Black and his tyranny in support of Aegon The Conqueror. House Tully was once House Targaryen’s lealest supporter outside the houses sworn to Dragonstone, they supported the Blacks during the Dance of the Dragons and the Reds during the Blackfyre rebellions. However, House Tully turned on the Targaryens during Robert’s rebellion. They were surely going to be replaced or worse. They had no royal blood unlike other houses, who were once kings in their own right, like the Starks, the Arryns and the Lannisters. Their right to rule was based on royal authority. The royal authority of the Targaryens before the rebellion and Robert Baratheon’s after. A royal authority that just disappeared in the instant, when the two dragons landed in Winterfell moments ago.

She was broken out of her thoughts by the green dragon extending its neck into the courtyard, it looked bigger, as it got closer. She started shaking in fear. What scared her most was the intelligence that she saw in its eyes. The way it eyed the King with disdain, was the look of a man, not the beast before her.

Everyone’s attention, including hers was turned towards it. Four men initially clambered down and jumped off, they all started fanning out, experienced eyes darting around looking for danger, they were all wearing steel cuirasses so well polished that they were glistening and shining in the sun. They looked like chivalrous knights out of one of Sansa’s stories or songs. The Targaryen sigil of a three-headed dragon was carved and etched elegantly into the middle of their plates with the precision of a master smith, they all wore it proudly.

The first man was grey of hair and had a steel hand. She recognised his face, like she had seen him before, but couldn’t think of a name. The Queen also seemed to have recognised him somehow because she had a discerning look on her face, like she was also looking for a name. She then went wide eyed and looked to her brother and back at the man. There was a resemblance. He must be some kind of Lannister cousin or the Queen’s lost uncle. Gerion and Tywin were said to have not been fond of each other. He walked forward slowly with a smirk on his face and hand on his sword’s hilt. A roaring lion. The man narrowed his eyes at the King’s gaping, before smirking even more widely. Like he was getting some satisfaction out of the reaction.

The next man had pale blond hair and blue eyes. She would have thought him the rider of the dragon except for the sword that he wielded. She would recognise that sword anywhere, anyone would. She had seen it at Harrenhal. A large great sword as pale as milkglass said to be forged from the heart of a fallen star. Dawn. The ancestral sword of House Dayne, famous for their purple eyes or pale blond hair. She could not think of who the wielder was. There was no Sword of the Morning in the current time, House Dayne was reduced to a little boy, his older sister and a cousin. The boy was too young to be the wielder. The cousin, Gerold Dayne, it couldn’t be him either, for he had a dragon streak like Valarr and Mantarys Targaryen except reversed, a black streak in his pale blond hair but this man’s hair was all of  one colour, pale blond. The man walked forward and took his place beside the other man, but a few feet apart, his face had a look of absolute concentration. Looking for any sign of a threat. She could not think of who he could be. For she had read books about and studied House Dayne in detail, after rumours of the bastard’s mother pointed to Ashara Dayne and the Tourney at Harrenhal… said to be one of the most beautiful woman ever. Which would explain the bastard’s looks. For as much as she hated to admit it, he was pretty.

The two other men took their places to the sides but slightly back from the other two, like they were in a protective circle. One had short brown hair and brown eyes, they were focused and searching for movement. His eyes flickered to Ned and she would later swear to the Seven that she saw a small smile. The last had a large warhammer resting against his shoulder. He was gripping the handle tightly while looking at the King, with harsh disappointment radiating out from the glare. He looked like the King as she would have imagined the Demon of the Trident today, not the fat man that the king had become. The man was tall and looked to be some maiden’s dream with large arms, a broad chest, short jet-black hair and piercing bright blue eyes. His eyes flickered to Arya quickly with a smile before returning forward to a straight face.

A moment passed before she saw a boy with a bastard sword evidently too big for him, strapped to his back. The boy had white blond hair and indigo coloured eyes. She heard the Queen utter something that sounded like Rhaegar under her breath. He did look like the former Prince of Dragonstone, but his face was longer and his hair was cut short. The King’s face started to redden and she saw anger started pooling in the King’s eyes. The boy wore black scale chainmail with flourishes of red appearing underneath at his neck where his mail met his black leather gloves. There was a dagger at his hip, with what looked like a dragon bone hilt. He wore no crown.  He stood a few feet behind the first man with his arms crossed, looking impatient but with a hint of excitement. She then felt Ned trembling as she noticed the last person dismount. Ned gripped her hand even more tightly then.

As the woman dismounted. The King’s anger disappeared in an instant. She had a long face, grey eyes and black hair. One could mistake her for Ned’s sister Lyanna but Catelyn had met Lyanna at that ill-fated Tourney at Harrenhal. She could and would never forget Lyanna’s face when all the smiles died in the instant after Prince Rhaegar rode past his wife and crowned Lyanna with the crown of blue winter roses, that memory was etched into her brain, never to be forgotten. She could never forget how tightly Brandon’s hand squeezed her’s as his sister was crowned. Or the young Robert Baratheon’s ever reddening face.

While Lyanna was beautiful, this woman took her features and perfected them.  While Lyanna had some freckles, this woman’s skin was smooth, clear and shone with a glow. While Lyanna was built like a child, this woman was curvaceous and well filled out. While Lyanna was a beauty in a wild way, this woman was a beauty of grace and elegance. She could not name a more beautiful woman alive. The Queen, who was said to be the most beautiful woman in the realm, looked plain in comparison. She heard the Queen chant “Younger and more beautiful.” under her breath several times, her meaning unclear. She wore mail just like the boy, but she had a surcoat on top. It was pure black and blended seamlessly with the mail, but in the middle, sitting proud upon her chest, was the sigil of House Targaryen, the red three headed dragon. It seemed to roar at Catelyn. At her hip was a longsword with fire for a pommel. The woman also lacked a crown.

The women prowled forward, like she was stalking some prey. Catelyn looked to Arya and saw a face that she only recognised on Sansa. One mixed with awe and another quality when Sansa heard the story of Florian the Fool and Jonquil, one of an unabashed dreamy quality, which was so rare on her wild younger daughter. This woman was seemingly the embodiment of all of Arya dreams and how could she not be? Arya’s idols were not pretty well-mannered maidens in love stories but Nymeria and The Conqueror’s sister wives.

She heard the king say something crossed between a whisper and a mumble that sounded something close to Lyanna. The woman heard that and scowled and glared so harshly at the King that she could almost imagine the King catching fire, for fire burned in the woman’s eyes. She was mistaken earlier when she thought the woman’s eyes were grey, she didn’t have grey eyes, she had very dark violet, almost black eyes. The woman’s gaze wandered over the courtyard before finding her’s and giving her a quick glare that sent shivers down her spine. What had she done to earn this woman’s personal enmity?

The King was starting to go beet red as it dawned on him that this wasn’t Lyanna, only someone who looked like her and was wearing the sigil of House Targaryen. He almost growled “Who are you?”

The woman ignored him and again cast a look around a courtyard before finding someone and smiling.

The King made to say something again before the women interrupted him.

“Jon Snow” she said. She scowled in displeasure at the name as a reflex. There was a beat of silence. Ned’s hand started to shake again before he forcefully grabbed her hand again in worry, to steady it. Everyone was a bit confused, what could this woman want with the bastard? Maybe she was going to offer him Winterfell and the North and install a Northern lord loyal to her. She again scowled in displeasure. There was another beat of silence. “I need to speak to Jon Snow” she said.

“What could you want with Ned’s bastard, woman?” The King asked in confusion. She wondered the same. The woman then smiled at the King like she knew something that he didn’t, with a bit of vindictive pleasure.

“I said, I need to speak to Jon Snow.” the woman said, this time more forcefully, with more conviction and a bit of anger, leaving no room for argument. There were a few moments of silence before she heard movement from behind her.

She looked to see the bastard moving forward, Robb tried to stop him by grabbing his cloak, but he pushed his way through after he removed the hand and shook his head at Robb. He walked slightly ahead of the line that they were arrayed in. She heard Arya scream for the bastard before she started running towards him. The bastard turned quickly and grabbed Arya, he crouched down and whispered something in her ear. Arya nodded after some hesitation. She had never liked how close the bastard and her youngest daughter were, but in this moment, she was grateful for how close they were, for only the bastard could have convinced Arya to not follow him, Arya was fiercely protective of all she saw as family. One of her few Tully qualities. He then pushed Arya towards Robb and nodded once at him. Robb nodded back and held Arya tightly.

The bastard stood as tall as he could but with grim acceptance holding down his shoulders, turned and walked towards the woman. The two Kingsguards, for that is what they must be, let the bastard through. He stopped a few feet in front of the woman. “I am Jon Snow. I am who you seek but I do not who you are or why.” the bastard said.

The woman cast an analysing gaze and looked the bastard up and down and then cast a look to the first Kingsguard for confirmation, he nodded. Then she smiled and said “So you are.” The bastard looked as confused as Catelyn was.

“Maekar, the sword.” the woman said. The boy took the sword out of the scabbard on his back. The sound of the sword being drawn rang out across the courtyard. The ripples of Valyrian steel glimmering in the light. The boy passed the sword to the woman avoiding the bastard’s confused and questioning gaze.  The sword was valyrian steel but what shocked her most about the blade was the pommel. The pommel was a white wolf with red garnets for the eyes. It looked like the bastard’s direwolf. It looked custom made for the bastard. Why was this woman giving the bastard a valyrian steel sword that looked made for him and how had she known about not just the direwolves but what the bastard’s direwolf looked like?

The woman ran her finger along the blade’s edge causing a slight cut. The blood spilled down the blade. She then offered the pommel of the sword to the bastard. The bastard hesitated. The woman nodded once at the blade and then smiled reassuringly. The bastard took the blade and held it up, studying it and his eyes went wide in admiration. The woman then said something. The bastard looked baffled but then seemed to acquiesce. He ran his finger along the blades edge.

Then all she saw was a blinding white flash of light, it started suddenly and ended as quickly. It took a while for her eyes to adjust. For a few moments, all she could make out were dark outlines. And then she saw a horrifying sight. The bastard was standing very stiffly, every muscle straining to its maximum, his head leant back in a position that looked very uncomfortable. But his eyes were pure white looking towards the sky and looked to be straining as far open as they could go. The woman was holding him steady, trying to keep the bastard upright. The boy rushed over to help. They were trying and failing to keep him up, the boy wasn’t strong enough. Before anyone could help, Ned left her side and was on them in an instant. The Kingsguard did not intervene to stop him. Ned was holding the bastard by the arm and the woman took the other. Ned’s glare at the women was as harsh as a winter storm and ice cold. She had only seen that glare once, when she tried to get the bastard sent away, shortly after she arrived at Winterfell.

The moment seemed to last forever. Before all the muscles in the bastard’s body seemed to relax in an instant and his eyes closed tightly. He collapsed. However, Ned caught him and was cradling him close to the ground. A look of worry and terror on his face. Ned was shaking him. The look of a parent worried for his child. One that she could empathise with, she hated that it was for the bastard but she understood. The bastard was still his child.

After a few moments, the bastard started to stir.  His eyelids fluttering. He immediately went to stand, much to Ned’s displeasure. He tried standing but failed and nearly fell again until Ned and the woman started to help and support him. After a few moments the bastard was able to stand on his own. He grimaced with pain and ran his hand over his forehead. He then started to look around. He went wide eyed at Ned. He looked towards the woman and glared but not with hatred or fear but annoyance. He huffed.  The woman smiled but this smile was different. It was an innocent smile. Like the one Arya would give her after getting caught while trying to sneak into the armoury or Robb when he gets caught stealing food from the kitchens. This confused her.

The bastard started to stand tall with a confidence that she has never seen before and to a degree tried to prevent. “Lyarra?” The bastard questioned with some exasperation, annoyance and… warmth. The woman beamed at him. How did the bastard know the woman? He didn’t recognise her before. Was this some kind of plot? “What is going on?” He said with some exasperation after raising an eyebrow at Ned. The woman started to laugh with relief.

“Father!” she squealed. Of all the things she could have possibly guessed would have been said, this wasn’t one of them. This woman was older than the bastard. They were an age of siblings, not Father and daughter. The woman practically jumped at the bastard and started hugging him as tightly as she could, tears in her eyes. The bastard after a moment of hesitation, took the woman into her arms and hugged back tightly, with a small smile.


	2. Eddard I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so new chapter. This chapter is from Ned and deals with the immediate fallout from the last chapter. They overlap a tad as well.
> 
> The next chapter will be out between 5-9 days from today, so some time next week from Wednesday at the earliest to Sunday at the latest. It depends on how much time I spend playing HOI4's new expansion. It will be from the POV of Aemon Targarayen, one of Jon's sons.
> 
> I welcome any criticism or feedback.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**“Never ask me about Jon. He is my blood and that is all you need to know.” Eddard to Catelyn, A Game of Thrones, Chapter II, Catelyn I**

**Eddard I**

“Promise me Ned.” Those words and the oath that he made with them echoed through his mind, soul and heart as Jon walked forward towards the mystery woman. When he has nightmares, it isn’t beasts or monsters that attack him. His nightmares are of that day, when seven took on three and only two lived. He can still smell the blood and the winter blue roses How can he keep his promise in the situation before him?

The situation left him baffled. How did these dragons grow to full size without anyone, anywhere finding out? There were no rumours or sailor’s tales, they seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

The boy with valyrian colouring confused him even further. He is too young to be Viserys, so who is he? House Targaryen were decimated after Summerhall. There were only four male Targaryens alive at the start of the rebellion and only one new born and a young boy after it. Who is this mysterious Targaryen boy? The woman however, left him stunned. She looked so like Lyanna that it bore a hole into his heart and soul. It made the promise that he made, resonate through his entire being even further. The woman however wasn’t Lyanna. She looked like Lyanna with the inhuman beauty and grace of Valyria. Lyanna had told him near the end that Rhaegar thought that Jon would be a girl “His Visenya.” Were Lyanna’s exact words. This woman looked like what could’ve been, if Rhaegar was right. Were Jon born a girl, this is what Ned imagined he would look like. The woman’s identity however was a mystery, she looked Stark with the slightly long face and colouring but she had valyrian features, especially the beauty. Who could she be? There was only one child born of such a union between Stark and Targaryen. Even if another was promised, if left unfulfilled after Cregan intervened in The Dance in return for the Pact of Ice and Fire. The promise of a Targaryen bride for Winterfell. Thus, the woman’s existence and presence were a mystery.

The four men, no the four Kingsguards who accompanied the two mystery Targaryens added to his confusion. They wore the exact same armour as the three at the Tower of Joy. Two in particular however caught his interest. The first looked like Robert, that much was clear. However, he looked like how he remembered Robert from the Vale, except older. How Robert… no, how the Demon of the Trident would have looked, had he not gotten fat.

The second however… wielded Dawn. The sword that recurred in many of his nightmares. He did not know who the wielder could be, except that he was a Dayne. His looks confirmed it but he knew House Dayne and could think of no one who could be the new Sword of the Morning and thus the wielder of Dawn. He also somewhat recognises the Kingsguard with the steel hand but he cannot put a name to his face. The entire situation confused him. Two live dragons and mysterious individuals who shouldn’t exist.

“Maekar, the sword.” The boy had a name to live up to for he was named for the Anvil at the Battle of the Redgrass Field, Maekar offers the blade to the woman. The woman takes it and spills her blood onto the blade. Is this some sort of blood magic? For what purpose? Jon hesitantly takes the sword offered to him. Jon then spills his own blood onto the blade and then instantly, all he can see is a bright light.

He can barely make out anything other than shadows. He starts rushing to who he thinks is Jon. He will not let his son, for that is what Jon is since the moment he held him, be involved in some blood magic, for some of his unknown conniving relatives, for some unknown purpose. Jon is his blood and Ned vowed to protect him since the day Jon was born and that is what he will do.

When his eyes begin to adjust, the sight of Jon terrifies him. All tensed up and straining against himself but what horrifies him is Jon’s pure white eyes. The normal grey pupils gone. He sees the boy and woman trying to hold him steady but the boy is too weak. He walks towards them with purpose, the Kingsguard surprisingly let him pass without challenge. He pushes the boy out of the way and grabs Jon’s arm and starts to support him. He feels how tense and strained Jon’s muscles are. They are barely clinging on but yet seem to be filled with infinite stamina. This situation and the panic & terror that come with it, seem to last hours. It must have been only moments though before Jon collapsed.

Ned managed to catch him. He held Jon close to the ground. “Jon, can you hear me?” There was nothing but the faint whimpers of breathing. He started shaking him.  “Jon!” He cried full of anguish before he turned to the woman and glared at her, what had she done to his boy? The woman ignored his glare but then suddenly, a few moments later, her eyes went wide and she nodded at Jon and smiled with warmth. He looked to Jon. His eyelids were fluttering open. Then they opened and the colour was back in them, he smiled a grateful smile. Jon was going to be Ok. His boy was going to be Ok. Jon groaned and then after a moment tried to stand. He tried to tell him to stop but Jon was already half standing before he could. Jon nearly fell but he caught him with the woman and they helped Jon to his feet. Jon swayed for a couple of seconds in a daze trying to find his balance before he was finally steady.

Jon grimaced in pain and ran his hand over his forehead. He then started to look around. He went wide-eyed at Ned. Why? Did Jon think that he didn’t care to help? Why was he surprised to see him? Of course, he would help. But what further confused him was when Jon looked at the woman. He saw a brief flicker of surprise and then happiness? Why was Jon happy to see the woman, he didn’t know her, did he? Then it turned into a glare, but this was not a glare of hatred or anger as he expected but one that was scolding and a bit annoyed. The one Ned would give the boys when they said something uncouth or inappropriate, he used that one on Theon a lot. The woman didn’t flinch. Jon huffed with exasperation. The woman then smiled. Ned knows that smile. He knows it too well. It was the one Lyanna gave his father after being caught sparring with Brandon in breeches or when Arya didn’t want to go back to embroidery lessons after running away to watch the boys spar. A smile where they knew they were in trouble but didn’t care. Why was the woman smiling at Jon like that?

Jon then stood up straighter and more confident then Ned had ever seen, one where Ned could almost not deny Jon’s royal blood and Jon cast a discerning gaze around the courtyard before turning to the woman. “Lyarra?” Jon questioned with what sounded like annoyance and frustration but it didn’t have a cold edge, it ended with warmth. Again, how did Jon know this woman? He then raised an eyebrow at Ned. “What is going on?” Jon asked.

The woman then started to laugh “Father!” she squealed. Before hugging Jon tightly. Jon hugged back after a slight hesitation but then smiled, it was a small one but full of warmth and love. The one Jon gave when he hugged Arya. Ned was now even more confused.

How is this Woman who looked older then Jon, Jon’s daughter?  Jon seemed to know more than he did before the blood magic ritual, but this was still Jon, he was sure. The new Jon had the same expressions and tone as before except… there was an air of confidence to him, a self-assuredness that he had never seen. After a few moments the hug broke apart. The boy who the woman called Maekar walked over and gave Jon a nod. Jon narrowed his eyes for a couple of seconds before Maekar seemed to give in. They hugged, Maekar tried to stay stiff for a couple of seconds before melting into Jon. Jon smiled. Jon murmured something into Maekar’s ear. Maekar gave a cautious laugh before Jon let go and nodded to the boy. The boy smiled at that. Jon then turned to the woman who he called Lyarra.

Jon breathed deeply, like he was calming himself. “Is this what I think it is?” Jon asked.

“Yes Father.” Lyarra replied.

Jon looked unsure before asking “This isn’t one of Bran’s… weird tree dreams, is it?” This confused Ned, what does Bran have to do with any of this?

“No.” Lyarra replied quickly and curtly. Too quickly.

“How are you so certain?” Jon asked with a reprimand before narrowing his eyes.

Lyarra gulped. “We did this.” Lyarra mumbled meekly.

“We?” Jon retorted sharply, anger started pooling his eyes, they almost looked purple. “I asked not to be brought back Lyarra! Did you think this is some technicality, to get away with it, that I won’t be angry?” Jon ranted. “Who helped you do this and for what for mad purpose?” 

Lyarra then gulped again and looked down dejected. “We should discuss this somewhere else Father.” Lyarra said before glancing to Ned.

Jon stared at Lyarra for a couple of seconds before breathing deeply and nodding.

“I assume that you have something resembling a plan?” Jon asked.

Lyarra just nodded at Ned.

Jon sighed.

“What is going on Ned?” Robert Shouted. “What do the dragon spawn…” The big green dragon roared not liking Robert’s interruption. The roar reverberated through the castle, echoing through the walls and making the ground and Ned vibrate. Ned was sure that no one else would dare interrupt again. He turned to watch Robert shrink back into silence. Jon smiled at that.

Jon walked towards him until they stood toe to toe. Jon was about to say something and then stopped.  Jon gave him a small smile. Jon gulped and in a low but strong voice said “Father...” Jon nodded and smiled like he got something right. “I can’t fully explain, the situation we are in or the purpose, for I don’t know the full extent of each. All I can say with confidence is that I was born in a tower in the Dornish marches…” Ned widened his eyes in surprise at that. “… and I was born a King but made the Bastard of Winterfell by my uncle for my protection.” Ned started to panic… Jon knew the truth. “He later became and will always be my father…” Jon then cast him an unsure look and then with a pleading look said “I now must ask him to pick between the oath that he made to his sister and the oath that he made to his friend, for I want to know if my Father will or will not stop me from getting revenge for the siblings that I lost and never met or will meet, thanks to the greed of Tywin Lannister and the anger of Robert Baratheon.” Ned grimaced at that, remembering the bloody red cloaks. The smashed skull and the little girl with half a hundred stab wounds. He had never been angrier at Robert in all his life when Ned pleaded with Robert for justice, justice for murdered children, Robert declared that ‘I see no children, only dragonspawn’. Jon went on “I want to know that my Father in everything but name & blood will support his son in reclaiming what is rightfully his and was rightfully his, since the moment he was born.”

Jon nodded at him and then walked towards the green dragon and started stroking its snout. It purred and huffed some smoke. Jon smiled. Everyone in the courtyard looked in shock at this. Catelyn was eyeing Ned with both confusion and an emotion that he couldn’t name. The children just looked confused. Since the dragons arrived, there were more and more faces with this expression in the courtyard. They were all eyeing the dragon nervously and with fear plain on their faces but they held their ground. His men more than doubled the Redcloaks and Baratheon guards that had escorted the Royals. The wall was also full of archers. Bows at the ready. Robert also only brought three of his Kingsguard with him, thinking the journey would be without trouble.

‘What would Brandon or Father do?’ he thought to himself. They both would support Jon, almost without hesitation. For even though this Jon is different and knows things that Jon shouldn’t, he is sure that it is Jon. It’s the eyes. The pleading eyes when Jon asked for Ned’s support. Jon only normally had that look in his eyes when he asking about his mother… but he had that look just a moment ago. It is still Jon. The boy that he raised as his son… and that is all he would ever be to Ned, nothing less. House Stark showed in the rebellion that it cared more for family than any oath to a King. It may hurt to go against Robert, his brother in everything but name & blood but Robert isn’t family. Jon is. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives’ Ned thought of what his father always used to tell him, when there is trouble: Defend the Pack. He remembers his promise to Lyanna. He takes a deep breath and calms himself. He has been avoiding this question for too long, he has wanted to avoid it, however the truth was out. Jon had the support of these people, whoever they were and Jon knew who he was. He had to pick between his nephew and his friend. Ned catches Jon’s eye and nods. His wife’s family words echoing through his mind: Family, Duty, Honour.

Jon smiles at him in grim acceptance and nods back. Jon then walks to the Kingsguard with black hair and whispers something. The man nods and bows his head slightly. He then walks to the Kingsguard with brown hair and clasps his shoulder. Jon whispers something and the man nods and bows his head. Jon then walked towards the man wielding Dawn. He hears Jon say with barely a whisper “Distract Ser Jaime.” The man nods and bows his head and murmurs “Your grace.” under his breath.  He walks to the oldest Kingsguard with a steel hand. “Robert.” is all Jon whispers. The man just nods and bows his head.

Jon then walks to Ned and asks “You know what has to be done?”

Ned nods after a moment of hesitation.

“Ned?” Robert calls unsure.

Jon turns on Robert and glares with a scowl. The glare as strong and sharp as a valyrian steel sword. Jon clears his voice and speaks clearly & loudly for the entire courtyard to hear. “Lord Stark, Robert Baratheon and the rest of his party look tired, …” Robert glares at Jon but Jon doesn’t flinch. “… perhaps it would be best, if they were escorted to their rooms with guards so they don’t get lost.” There was dead silence in the courtyard. “On top of that, the North can be a dangerous place, perhaps placing guards outside their rooms…” Jon trailed off. “… will assure them of their safety.” He could feel all eyes on him. He turned to find Jory’s confused eyes and without hesitation nods. Jory draws his steel.

The sound of steel being drawn rings out across the courtyard. His men all turn to face the royal escort. For a few moments, no one moves or says anything. One of his men gives Robb a blade. Robb narrows his eyes in concentration. Catelyn and Sansa look terrified. Arya and Bran look excited. Rickon doesn’t look like he understands what’s going on.

Jon’s Kingsguard with the steel hand moves first. He makes for Robert. One of Robert’s Kingsguards goes to defend him but is killed in barely the time it takes to breath. The sword went straight through the man’s neck. All around the courtyard, the sound of steel on steel is singing. The man with Dawn starts engaging The Kingslayer, the fight looks evenly balanced. A Lannister red cloak makes for his family… panic sets in. He looks around for a weapon. However, before he can move, the redcloak is smashed in the chest by a warhammer, he can hear all the ribs being smashed to bits. The Kingsguard who looks like Robert then stands in front of Ned’s family to ward off any danger. Jory engages and kills a man with a Baratheon surcoat. Another of the Targaryen Kingsguard, the one with brown hair and eyes cut down one Baratheon man and one Redcloak in a quick but bloody efficient manner. Robert’s second Kingsguard yielded without a fight to the Kingsguard with the steel hand. A redcloak rushed him but was intercepted and killed by one of his men, Alyn.

Two roars ring out across the courtyard. Everyone freezes. “If Lord Stark’s hospitality is not up to the standards of hosting you, I’m sure Rhaegal’s and Drogon’s will suffice.” Lyarra said. “Yield and live.” She shouted. Then Ned heard a sword drop, the steel hitting the floor with a crash, and then another, and another and many more before all the guards that came with the royal party had dropped their weapons.  Three redcloaks, two Baratheon men and one Kingsguard laid dead.

He heard the screaming or rather the screeching of the crown prince as he is dragged away from the courtyard to the Guest Keep. The Crown Prince kept yelling “Traitors!” or “I will have your heads.” He kept dragging his feet along the floor but is eventually just picked up by two of Ned’s men and carried away.

The Queen seems to be in a state of denial as she is escorted away with her younger children. Murmuring “Younger and more beautiful.” under her breath. The Kingslayer shouts to as he is being dragged away “Stark, I didn’t think you had it in you!” Mockery evident in his tone.

Robert is dragged before him before he is led to his rooms. “Why Ned?” Robert asks in a sad broken voice. “You were my only friend, the only one I trusted.” Robert’s voice cracks. “Why?”

“For family.” Ned responds at almost a whisper before he nodded to his men. Robert looked him straight in the eye and nodded sadly and with dejection. They lead Robert away. The rest of the royal guards are slowly escorted out of the courtyard to their rooms.

Cat looks at him with a question. He mouths later to her. She stared at him for moment and she looked like she wasn’t happy but then nodded after some hesitation. She leads the children and Theon inside.

“Your solar?” Jon asks.

Ned nods. “Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned says there are only four male Targs at the start of the rebellion and a new born and a boy after, this is wrong. Ned forgets about Maester Aemon (because doesn't everyone). 
> 
> I thought about what Ned would do if Jon asked for his support. I think he never thought about it/ avoided the question, however I also think that if it came down to it and Jon asked Ned would say yes. As it is shown by his execution that he places family above his honour.
> 
> Also with Robert's reaction. His last and only friend just betrayed him seemingly at the point of a dragons tooth. He was already depressed , so his reaction... is just sadness. He still doesn't completely comprehend the situation of Ned actually backing the Targs. He thinks Ned is being threatened in some way. His reaction to Ned actively choosing the Targs will come later.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: I had a large essay this week which will delay the chapter until Saturday or Sunday. 17th-18th.


	3. Aemon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[Corlys Velaryon] was a scion of House Velaryon: a family of old and storied Valyrian heritage who had come to Westeros before the Targaryens, as the histories agree, and who often provided the bulk of the royal fleet” Maester Yandel, The World of Ice & Fire, The Targaryen Kings: Jaehaerys I.
> 
> Prince Aemon rallies loyal houses in an attempt to retake Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry the chapter was delayed a day, lots of Uni essay's came up. Expect a chapter by the end of the month at the latest. I have a lot of uni work to get through and might not have time for writing but if I do, the chapter will be posted earlier. 
> 
> So this is Aemon I. The next chapter will be back in Winterfell with Eddard II.
> 
> Edit: Thanks to GOT88 for being a beta and going through all three chapters and correcting my terrible grammar. I've now updated all three chapters with his corrections.
> 
> Edit 2: Uni work has delayed and took up all my time I've only managed to get half it done by 31st, Will try to get new chapter up asap
> 
> Edit 2: After some feedback in comments, I've edited the section about the Tully's to make it less specific to allow me to consider how to resolve if they will rule the riverlands and if they do, what their punishment is.

**“[Corlys Velaryon] was a scion of House Velaryon: a family of old and storied Valyrian heritage who had come to Westeros before the Targaryens, as the histories agree, and who often provided the bulk of the royal fleet” Maester Yandel, The World of Ice & Fire, The Targaryen Kings: Jaehaerys I.**

**Aemon I**

The sound of a small stream bubbling and the chirps of the birds allowed him to bathe in a peaceful serenity as he polished his blade. He was sitting on the bank of a stream and was surrounded by the greenery of the crownlands. The smell of flowers and grass permeated the air and soothed him. There was only a light breeze, which was refreshing in the late afternoon heat. As a child, he loved to go riding in the Kingswood and find a small secluded spot to sit and think. They were about midway between Rook’s Rest and The Bay of Crabs. He had taken a short walk away from the camp to be alone with his thoughts. Waving off Aunt Arya’s wish to join him. Ser Daemon was only twenty or so paces behind but he was far enough away that it allowed him the peace and quiet to prepare himself for tomorrows tasks. They didn’t have much flight time today as they appeared on The God’s Eye in the late afternoon, so they had to rest and make camp. Kiōs had already flown off to hunt but would be back in the morning with the charred remains of some unfortunate animal.

Tomorrow they were going to visit the Lords of the Point to rally them to the Targaryens, just as his ancestor Visenya did, three hundred years before, then they would fly to Claw Isle and from there on to Driftmark to rally those loyal in the Narrow Sea. These forces together should allow them to capture Dragonstone, they couldn’t use Kiōs because they didn’t want to turn the ancestral home of House Targaryen, their home, into another Harrenhal and thus they had to capture it through conventional means. They had to act quickly as the man who held the castle, was known for not yielding in a siege. Stannis Baratheon stubbornly held out during the Usurper’s rebellion, not surrendering, when any other man would have. It therefore is unlikely that he would yield Dragonstone without resistance. They needed to catch him unprepared, which required secrecy and speed. His thoughts quickly turned to the siblings that he was already missing, it left a hole in his heart, only Lyanna was with him. Maekar and Lyarra went North to get Father whereas Rhaella, his older twin Aegon and his older brother Daeron remained behind.

His mother used to say that out of all her children, that he was the most like Father. He did what the late Lord Tyrion called ‘brooding’ like his father, he detested the machinery of court like Father, he was also very skilled with a blade like Father, though the rest of his brothers and one of sisters also shared this trait. His twin Aegon was the life of court, japing and laughing with all manner of lords and ladies from across the realm. Daeron was his eldest brother and now the King in the future that wouldn’t exist? Uncle Bran had called it an ‘alternate world’, whatever that meant. He still didn’t fully understand it after Uncle Bran explained it to them all, multiple times. Daeron while not happy or prone to japes, like Aemon’s twin Aegon, was also unlike Father. For while Daeron possessed Father’s honour, he also enjoyed ruling and playing ‘the game’ along with the machinations of court. Everyone who truly knew Father, knew that he hated the games that came with being King, Daeron didn’t hate being The Prince of Dragonstone and he wouldn’t hate being the King. Daeron enjoyed the games of court.

Maekar was named well, for he was like his namesake. He had an iron-will and was quick to condemn and judge. Maekar always used to annoy all the rest of them by reminding them of their duties or responsibilities. Father once overheard this lecturing and said that Maekar reminded him of Stannis Baratheon when he dealt with him at the Wall. He wasn’t sure whether Father meant it as praise or not and if it was true then they could not hope for Stannis Baratheon yielding, for Maekar wouldn’t. Lyarra was Father’s favourite, for even though Father loved them all, Lyarra had a special place in Father’s heart. For Lyarra had what Father called the ‘wolfsblood’ and said that Lyarra reminded him of Aunt Arya when she was a child and thus Aemon thought, of what grandmother was meant to be like.

Aunt Sansa once told him that while Maekar was the best named, Lyanna was the worst. Lyanna loved sewing, songs and stories, just like what Father said Aunt Sansa was like when she was younger. Whereas him and the rest of his siblings had nicknames, Lyanna was always ‘Lyanna’ in full. Lyanna hated riding and wouldn’t even touch a sword unlike her namesake, who is eternally remembered in the song The Mystery Knight as The Knight of The Laughing Tree, where she rode to avenge Lord Reed’s honour at the Tourney of Harrenhal and unhorsed three knights. The only ransom that she asked for, was that of getting the knights to teach their squires honour. The song is regularly played across the North during feasts as young maidens and young lordlings dance the night away, it is always sung as a token of fealty to House Stark and Father. Lyanna had come with them despite her naivety because she wanted to see Father again and help him. For even though Father loved Lyarra most, Lyanna made Father smile more.

Rhaella, named for his other grandmother reminded him so much of Mother with her iron will but compassion for those she loved. At the age of five, she screamed and berated Ser Jaime after Aegon was beaten quite badly in a spar. Sadly, she was too young at eight to come with them and stayed back with Daeron and Aegon. Mother had died giving birth to her. It sometimes made him sad to even look at his little sister for they looked so alike, even at Rhaella’s young age but he always felt guilty afterwards. She was always going to be named Rhaella for Mother and Father agreed to name any girls they had after Lyarra, after their mothers, depending on their colouring. When Rhaella was born, mother died. Lord Tyrion had called it ‘the gods being ironic cunts’ for just like how Rhaella’s namesake had died giving birth to Mother, Mother had died giving birth to her mother’s namesake. Father was never the same after Mother’s death, he still played with and loved all his children but whereas before the joy in his eyes shone brightly, afterwards they were always slightly dimmed, like a part of him was no longer was there.

“You brood too much.” he heard a familiar voice call.

He turned to see Aunt Sansa walking towards him. He smiled as a reflex. Ever since Mother had died, Aunt Sansa had filled the role of a loving mother figure for all of Father’s children. She was a constant loving presence in the Red Keep for all of them. Sometimes Father was too busy being the king to listen to and spend time with them all, though they all knew he wished to. Aunt Sansa had filled the gap and was always concerned and loving. Always listening to their problems or being the voice of reason in their disputes. She sat down on the riverbank next to him, carefully laying her dress flat.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked.

Family he thought but answered “What if we can’t get the Lords of the Point on our side? We need them to be able to rally enough men to take Dragonstone quickly.”

She smiled gently and with reassurance. “Why do you think I’m here, instead of with your sister?” She asked.

“To make sure I don’t do anything stupid?” He questioned.

She laughed. She then stared at him for a couple seconds before saying “I’m here because which group of lords is most similar to the Lords of the Point?” She hummed “They live in isolation, they feud constantly with each other but are devoted to those who they see as their rightful liege lord.”

“The Mountain Clans.” He replied without hesitation.

She smiled approvingly before saying “I was with your Father when he did most of the work in rallying the Mountain Clans to help take back Winterfell from the Boltons.” She then smiled in nostalgia as she said “Your Father was very brooding and liked sulking in the corner as a child, but when he went to rally the Mountain Clans he was the centre of attention and of course thrived. He danced with the Chief’s daughters, complimented their beauty. He sparred with the Chief’s sons and challenged them to drinking contests. He yelled loudly in debate with the Chiefs to convince them to join and wrestled them when they did him or me insult. By the end of the month, we had near four thousand men and they had taken to calling him ‘The Jon’. They made up the bulk of our army during the Battle of the Bastards.”

“You expect that rallying the Lords of the Point will be similar and that your experience with the Mountain Clans will help?” Aemon asked voicing his thoughts.

“Just so, but the Lords of the Point won’t require as much convincing I would think.” She replied before smiling. “Come…” She grabbed his hand. “…we should return to the others.”

The camp was relatively small, there were only seven of them including him. Ser Loras was stoking the fire to prevent it from going out while chatting animatedly with Lyanna about… whatever those two talk about, normally the fashion of court or this or that piece of scandalous gossip. Ser Daemon went to his brother in white to greet him. They hugged with some affection. Those two had been very close ever since Ser Daemon joined the Kingsguard. Everyone in court knew but no one talked about it. Aurane just gave him a single nod of acknowledgement.

“Where have you two been?” Someone asked sharply.

He jumped. His aunt always did that. She would appear out of nowhere and then question him incessantly, always overly concerned about his safety and would keep asking questions until given a satisfactory answer.

“He was brooding.” Sansa replied with a fond smile.

Aunt Arya huffed. “Like Jon does?” She asked.

Before anyone could answer, Arya turned to him and with an impatient gaze said. “What were you brooding about? Things are going well. There is nothing to mope over.” She crossed her arms. “Just having a dragon will convince the Lords of the Point and the Narrow Sea to rally to us.”

“Lady Arya is correct.” Aurane said. “My brother will not hesitate to believe you when he sees the dragon.” Aurane smiles. “Neither will I.” He adds as an afterthought. “If my brother still has doubts, there are a couple of things that only he and I know about, so when I reveal that I know them, it will surely convince him.”

Father would be able to convince the North to join them, so that was one of the Seven Kingdoms. If Aurane was correct then the Lords of the Narrow Sea would be theirs.

Dorne… “Ser Daemon?” He questioned.

Ser Daemon looked up from where he was cooking some rabbit. “My Prince?” He questioned.

“How will Dorne act?”

Ser Daemon looked to be deep in thought for a couple of seconds. “Prince Doran will be cautious as he always was.”  He chuckled. “I guess it’s as is now.” He paused. “Prince Oberyn will be enraged that Rhaegar married the Princess Lyanna but will not hold it against his grace, so he will be baying for Lannister blood in the end. However, if he gets a whiff that his Nephew is alive then he will fight for him, even though we know that this Aegon is a Mummer’s Dragon. I might however, be able to convince him that this ‘Aegon’ is a fake, if he believes that I am who I say I am.” The boy who is pretending, knowing or not, to be his uncle would need to be eliminated quickly, along with is supporters, there will be an opportunity to eliminate one supporter while rescuing mother, Aemon thought to himself.

Aemon nodded. “Ser Loras what about your family?” He asked.

Ser Loras grimaced. “Father will try to throw Margaery at his grace. However, he will support him either way as his banners will force him too.”

Aemon nodded before grimacing. “You know it is unlikely that my Father will allow the Tyrells to remain the rulers of the Reach because of the Siege at Storms End during the Usurper’s rebellion?”

Ser Loras nodded. “His grace would be right to.” Ser Loras paused. “If my father had allowed even half of the cavalry that he brought to the siege go to The Trident, the rebels would have lost.” Ser Loras looked down ashamed and with resentment said “Father was too ambitious. He forgot that we are not the Gardeners, merely stewards raised by the Targaryens to be the Lords of the Reach.” Ser Loras was silent in contemplation for a couple of seconds. “Who will his grace replace us with?” Ser Loras asked.

Aemon thought about it. The Hightowers might be a good choice, but Father didn’t like them because of their actions during the Dance and their fiddling with the succession. Father had a grudge against the Tarlys because he didn’t like their current lord. The Florents had married Stannis Baratheon and thus were also unlikely. “Most likely the Rowans” He replied. Ser Loras nodded. “However, Father is not known for being predictable in awarding Lordships.” Aemon said.

“Aunt Sansa?” Aemon asked.

“Yes Aemon?” She replied and looked towards him.

“What will Father do with the Riverlands?” He asked, trying to avoid directly asking the question.

His Aunt gave him a stare of frustration before saying “You mean, will he replace my Mother’s family?”

Aemon avoided his aunt’s eyes before he nodded.

“Jon always liked Uncle Edmure and they got on quite well, but unlike other houses, House Tully didn't rebel for a just cause, so House Tully must be punished in some way." Sansa sighed. "But replacing them will make the already divided Riverlords even more so, your Father could go either way."

Lyanna then interjected “What about the Vale? Surely the heroic knights of the Vale will be important?”

They all sat in silence for a couple of seconds.

“Lady Lysa cannot remain in power.” Aemon paused. “Visenya showed us the way to get control of the Vale.” Visenya had ridden up to the Eyrie to show the all the Lords of the Vale that while the Bloody Gate and the Eyrie may be invulnerable to conventional military power, they are near useless against the power of dragons. The Queen Dowager, the Regent of the Vale at the time of Aegon’s Conquest had found her son sitting on Visenya’s lap when Visenya travelled to the Vale upon Vhagar to gain their allegiance and the sight caused the Dowager Queen to give up the kingdom and kneel to Aegon. Since then the Vale had always been a loyal supporter of House Targaryen that was until the Mad King, his grandfather had demanded the heads of the Usurper and his great uncle from Lord of the Vale.

Aunt Sansa looked to be contemplating upon what he had said for a couple of seconds before nodding. “It could work if your father visited Lord Royce first. It is also eerily similar to the Conquest, a young boy with a mother as regent, which could only help.”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Aemon circled Dyre Den, the seat of House Brune on Kiōs. The Lords of the Point have been ever loyal to the dragons since they swore fealty to Visenya. Many of their men died at The Battle of the Trident with his grandfather Prince Rhaegar. He already had the support of House Bogg, House Cave, House Hardy and House Pyne who bent the knee and promised to gather as many of their troops as quickly as they could and rally at the Whispers. They did this as soon as he had landed on his dragon on the condition he held up Visenya’s oath of them being directly sworn to the Iron Throne. If he could get House Brune and House Crabb, he would have gathered about two thousand men at The Whispers within a week. The best part of rallying the Point is that no one outside the Point will know. People rarely left the Point or travelled into the Point thus leading too little to no contact with the rest of Westeros. Maintaining the element of surprise.

His dragon landed with a crash at a short distance from the gates. The castle could barely be called that, it was rundown and the gate looked to be rotting. However, these men were loyal, even though they were poor. So as before only he, Aunt Sansa and Ser Loras got off. All the guards were staring at him with awe written on their faces. They all wore some combination of leather and cloth, they looked more like rundown northern levies because of a lack of plate or mail. However, they were men and that is what Aemon needed.

“I wish to speak to Lord Brune!” Aemon yelled.

One of the guards ran down from the battlements in a hurry. He waited for a couple of minutes. He hoped this went as well as it had with the other lords who needed no convincing to rally men after they had seen the dragon. It was getting late but he will not impose upon House Brune’s hospitality as they still needed to visit the Crabbs, the Celtigars and reach Driftmark. The only issue that could cause disagreement among the men is the local petty rivalries between the lords and the Point as a whole if the Celtigars insisted on acting as their liege lord. Every few years, the Celtigars try to send men to collect taxes from the Lords of the Point, only the lucky ever return. Thus, there is a lot of animosity between the two. House Celtigar hates those they see as unruly vassals and The Lords of The Point hate the Celtigars for imposing on their independence. Aemon hoped to be able to keep the peace.

An old man appears. The man takes one look at him and starts to gape. After a couple of moments, he falls to his knees. “Your grace” He murmurs. All the guards follow him.

“Rise, I’m no king Lord Brune, merely a Prince.” He says before he offers his hand to the Lord.

The Lord took his hand and Aemon helped him up. “House Targaryen is in need of your service, my lord. I know you have many questions about my identity and the presence of the dragon. These questions will be answered in time, but first I need to ask you to raise as many men as you can and arrive at the Whispers within a week.”

The man bowed. “It will be done my prince.” Lord Brune said.

“How many men can you raise in that time?” Aemon asked.

Lord Brune looked to be in thought for a couple of seconds before saying “About three hundred or so, my Prince.”

Aemon nodded. “How many do you think Lord Crabb can raise in that same time?”

“Well, it is his land we will be gathering in, so slightly more. Maybe three hundred and fifty.”

Aemon smiled. “Then we will have two thousand men from the Point. Then about fifteen hundred from the Velaryons and the Celtigars. Would you say my lord that would be enough to quickly retake Dragonstone?”

The Lord smiled “Yes, I think it would be.”

“My Lord, we wish we could stay the night to enjoy your hospitality but we are in a hurry and we must maintain the element of surprise. However, can we impose upon you for some food, as we haven’t eaten since this morning.”

The lord smiled widely. “Of course, my prince.” The lord then turned. “Lothar show our guests inside for some food!” The man did as he was bid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was already the Hour of the Wolf by the time they reached Driftmark. They had gotten the support of the Crabbs and the Celtigars. They needed the Velaryons, their fleet would form the bulk of the fleet they needed and they had the largest levy among the Lords of the Narrow Sea. So convincing Aurane’s brother and the younger Aurane of the entire situation was crucial to their hopefully quick and decisive campaign to capture Dragonstone. Kiōs roared as the castle of Driftmark came into view. It was a small and damp castle. House Velaryon had once held a greater seat after Corlys Velaryon raised a new seat when House Velaryon was at the height of their power. However, during the Dance, the new castle High Tide was burned to the ground by the Greens. House Velaryon were therefore forced back into their old castle of Driftmark. House Velaryon lost a lot of their power during the Dance, once they were as rich as the Hightowers and had a massive fleet but after the Dance, their fleet was greatly reduced and they lost the important and wealthy town of Spicetown, which was burned alongside High Tide.

As they landed outside the gates, Aemon saw there were people outside to greet them. He hoped off the dragon and the entire party followed. He walked towards the group and saw a man with fair hair smiling widely and a woman next to him with the same fair hair grinning as widely. Just next to her was a younger man, also with fair hair. Aurane whispered “This is weird”. Aemon smiled at that. As he reached the group they all went on one knee.

“Rise Lord Velaryon. I will not have House Targaryen’s lealest vassals on their knees for long.” Aemon smiled as Lord Velaryon rose. “We should speak in private my lord, we have much to discuss. Your brother should be there as well.” Lord Velaryon nodded and led the way.

Lord Velaryons’s solar was quite lavish for the small cramped castle they were in. It was filled of tapestries displaying the Dance of Dragons and the Conquest. It had many books and at glance, some were on the histories of Valyria. It was just him, Lord Velaryon and the two Auranes.

“Wine, your grace?”

He nodded. Lord Velaryon poured a cup. He sniffed it. It was fruity but with no spice. Arbor gold, one of the finest vintages. He started sipping it with pleasure.

Lord Velaryon looked at him for a couple of seconds. “Are you the Lady Lyanna’s son?” He asked with barely contained excitement.

He breathed deeply to steady himself and compose his thoughts. “What I am about to tell you Lord Velayron…”

“Monford.” Lord Monford interjected.

“…Lord Monford…” Aemon smiled before pausing for a couple of moments. “…is unbelievable but I have proof. I am not the Lady Lyanna’s son but her grandson. I have come back in time with two of my sisters and my brother and a group of companions to restore our Father’s memories into his younger self.”

Lord Monford narrowed his eyes with a bit of suspicion and disbelief. “Your proof, this seems a bit farfetched?” He said with caution but with no disrespect, just a faint edge of curiosity.

Aemon smiled and put his arm around Aurane’s shoulder. “This is Aurane, Aurane Waters.”

Lord Monfords eyes went to older Aurane and studied him before his eyes widened in surprise before turning to his brother. “He does look like you.” Lord Monford said with an edge of hope.

The younger Aurane snorted but before he could say anything the older Aurane looked at his younger self and said “Remember when Monford broke into Father’s solar to look at and read all the books from Old Valyria and we took the blame when both us and Monford were confronted for being the perpetrator by Father?” Young Aurane’s and Lord Monford’s eyes widened in shock.

“Aurane?” Lord Monford asked in a low voice with no doubt, simply a query for confirmation.

“Yes, it is brother, yes it is.” Aurane said with a smile. “This is Prince Aemon, the third son of his grace King Jaehaerys Targaryen.”

“King Jaehaerys? Where has the King been since the rebellion? He must have been hidden well to avoid the Usurper’s attention and keep the knowledge of his existence a secret.” Lord Monford asked with curiosity.

Aemon smiled. “My great uncle Eddard hid him.”

Lord Monford gasped. “Lord Stark claimed a bastard after the rebellion.” Lord Monford’s eyes now shined with hope and joy.

Aemon nodded. “He claimed his nephew to hide him from the Usurper’s wrath. Do we have your support Lord Monford?”

Lord Monford smiled. “The Old, the Brave, the True. We are true to our rightful King. You have me and my house, my Prince.” Lord Monford stood and lifted his wine in toast. “To House Targaryen!” He shouted.

They all followed him to their feet. “To House Targaryen!” They all repeated before drinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood on the quarterdeck of the ship as it swayed from side to side as Dragonstone came into view. Home. Even though he spent most of his life living in the Red Keep, he felt a sense of comfort and ease when living at Dragonstone. He was born there. The smell of the salt and the distinct smell of the volcano calmed him. They had a relatively small fleet of thirty ships carrying the three thousand and five hundred men that they had rallied. The Royal Fleet was not ready for combat and would be taken by surprise in port. They would be upon them before they could ready half the ships in the harbour and half of their fleet was trading and thus was not in port. On top of that, the people of the island were also loyal to the dragons, so only the household guard brought by the Florents to help secure Lady Selyse and from the Stormlands taken by Lord Stannis, would put up any resistance, along with the marines of the Royal Fleet. He was on the Pride of Driftmark, the largest of all the Velaryon ships and the flagship of the fleet. The Pride of Driftmark was a three hundred oared war galley with scorpions and catapults on the top. It had a silver coloured hull which glistened in the sunlight. It had a figurehead of a seahorse: the sigil of House Velaryon. Aemon was startled as he heard the faint sound of bells starting to ring in the distance.

“They know we are here, Lord Monford.” Aemon said with a smile.

 “Raise the banners!” Lord Monford shouted.

The Velaryon flag flying on top the ship was taken down. The three-headed dragon was raised in its place. The black and red flag started swaying in the light breeze. To a lot of people in the Seven Kingdoms it inspired fanatical devotion among others it was a symbol of madness but to him, it was family. His family. His pride. For it was Father’s banner and Father was a great king.

Lord Monford was using a far eye to appraise the enemy fleet that started arraying in front of them. Lord Monford smiled. “They have about thirty ships, the same as we do. However, by the looks of it, they lack half the crew needed to fully man the ships.”

The fleets started edging towards each other. They were both like slow but unstoppable waves, slowly making their way across a bay before they would clash in the middle. He saw the flagship of the royal fleet at Dragonstone, the Fury. It was a large triple decked war galley with three hundred oars. The large sail had a large imprint of the banner of the House Baratheon, a crowned black stag on yellow. It looked impressive with its scorpions and catapults on the top deck. However, the scorpions were too small to pierce the scales of dragons and the catapults not accurate enough to hit Kiōs. For a while, Kiōs was not the largest of the dragons, for he was quite small in comparison to Rhaegal and Drogon but he was the fastest and the most agile. He could turn quicker and more abruptly than Rhaegal and Drogon and dive faster than an eagle. Aemon doesn’t remember a time without Kiōs, for he hatched when Aemon was in his cradle. Kiōs felt more like a brother then a pet. Aemon has fond memories of soaring over the Kingswood on Kiōs and feeling nigh on invulnerable with the wind flowing through his hair and the strong muscles of Kiōs working hard to keep them in flight. There was no greater feeling of power and dominance than flying on a dragon. Kiōs knew what he wanted and Aemon knew what Kiōs wanted, they shared a connection.

The enemy fleet was slowly getting closer and closer as time went by. They needed them to get far away enough from land to prevent a quick retreat before the trap could be sprung. The enemy fleet started to slowly sail into formation. After some time, the enemy fleet was in a wedge formation, while Aemon’s fleet was arrayed in a line. It looked like the enemy hoped to concentrate enough force in the centre to puncture a hole in their line and then defeat them in detail. Aemon smiled. ‘Perfect’ he thought. All the enemy ships will be cramped close together. Aemon’s fleet was the anvil and the bait while Kiōs was the hammer and the trap. Will Maekar be jealous if I steal his namesake’s epithet, Aemon thought to himself. Maybe they will sing a song ‘Aemon, the Anvil of the Sea.’

Just as the enemy fleet reached the point of no return, Kiōs dived from the clouds like bird hunting its prey. He dived with a loud roar which seemed to echo across the surface of the sea. His bright yellow scales glittering in the sun. The dive was quick and unexpected for the Usurper’s fleet. Kiōs first targeted the tip of the wedge and bathed the Fury with fire. Aemon could see many sailors diving of the ship into the sea to escape the fury of Kiōs’s flames. Two or three ships surrounding the Fury also caught fire. The crew on The Pride of Driftmark started cheering and chanting “Fire and Blood.” Kiōs quickly and abruptly started climbing again. The Usurper’s fleet seemed to be in a daze of confusion as the focal point and the lance of their attack had seemed to be pulverised in an instant.

Kiōs quickly dived again, this time on Aemon’s left attacking the back of the Royal Fleet. He glided and burned his way up the back line of the wedge, trapping the enemy fleet and preventing retreat.

Fire was now spreading all over the enemy fleet. At least half of their ships were now on fire and Kiōs continued to rise and dive and strafe the enemy ships with fire. They tried to respond with scorpions and catapults but Kiōs was either too quick or his hide too thick. All they would do is attract his attention and then be bathed in a lake of scorching fire. It took less then fifteen minutes for the large fleet that was arrayed in front of them to be turned into a smouldering burnt husk that was scattered with the survivors having all raised the white flag in surrender. Their surrender was accepted quickly before Aemon’s fleet turned to land on the shores of Dragonstone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The men had started constructing the siege lines an hour ago. The walls were way more heavily manned than they expected. The men on the walls were a combination of Baratheon men and Florent men, however the largest contingent was made up of marines and sailors. The fleet that sallied was a distraction, Aemon thought, to buy Stannis Baratheon enough time to organise the siege and integrate some of the men of the fleet into the garrison of Dragonstone. This siege might not be as quick as he hoped. The rest of the island was taken without any resistance, the people of Dragonstone cheered as the men marched through the small village not far from the castle. This was not surprising because the people of Dragonstone were fanatically devoted to the Targaryens, half of them were descendants of Dragon Seeds, so in some way, a lot of them were kin.

He sat atop his horse under the banner of the three-headed dragon and a banner of truce with a small party of men. He needed to confirm that the commander of the garrison was Stannis Baratheon and that he hadn’t burn with the Fury and the rest of the fleet. He waited a couple of minutes before the drawbridge lowered and a small party of men rode out. The lead rider was a large broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes like Ser Gendry. His hair was only a fringe and was jet black, his beard was closely cropped. He wore a severe frown. ‘Stannis Baratheon’ Aemon thought. So, the enemy fleet was a distraction to buy time to prepare a siege. There were two men behind Stannis, one was an older man with fox like ears and the other was… Ser Davos? Except, he looked a lot younger than when Aemon saw him last upon a bed dying of a cold, Father lost one of his best friends and one of his best advisors that day. His party was made up of just a few knights sworn to House Velaryon, Lord Monford and Ser Daemon. He rode his horse forward and was quickly followed by his party. He met the other party in the middle.

Aemon thought about what Father had told him about Stannis Baratheon. He said that Stannis was a hard man but one that was ruthless in his application of the law. That he felt slighted by his brother for not giving him Storm’s End after he held it during the long siege in the Usurper’s rebellion. Finally, that Stannis was unwavering in his pursuit of what he felt was his duty.

He stared at Lord Stannis for a minute, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t. This went on for a couple more minutes with neither party speaking. Aemon decided to make an opening offer “Yield the castle and you will be made the Lord of Storm’s End and the Stormlands after you swear allegiance to the rightful King or don’t and either die or end up in the Nights Watch, which ever his grace decides.” Aemon said gravely.

Stannis looked at him for a moment before saying “No.”

Aemon nodded. “Then there is not much to talk about.” Aemon said with a sigh.

Stannis nodded back and both parties started to retreat back to their lines.

After they were back in the siege camp, Aemon turned to Lord Monford. “Lord Monford, send a message to Driftmark informing my Aunt that we will need to besiege Dragonstone.”

Lord Monford nodded at that.

Aemon was deep in thought. He needed to take Dragonstone but he was also running out of time. If he waited significantly longer, mother would be married to that Dothraki Khal, which could not happen. He also needed to eliminate the Blackfyre pretender and his supporter the Magister Illyrio for daring to create a plot to impersonate his late uncle. He did not have time for this siege, he had hoped to catch the castle quickly but it looked like it would take a long siege with a man as unyielding as Stannis and Dragonstone would cost too many lives to take in a direct assault.

Lord Monford returned a couple of minutes later and sat in his tent while talking to Ser Daemon and the older Aurane. He needed to rescue mother. That was all that was on his mind. His mother did not deserve to be married to a savage because his uncle was a mad idiot.

“I will be flying to Pentos.” Aemon said abruptly.

“Pentos?” Lord Monford queried.

“I need to rescue my mother before she is married off to a Dothraki Khal.” Aemon said in reply.

Lord Monford looked horrified at the prospect of a Targaryen bride for a Dothraki. “A Dothraki Khal?” Lord Monford asked in a voice that dripped with contempt.

Aemon nodded. “My uncle is his father’s son.” Aemon thought of all those stories of his uncle that mother had told him that she said would serve as a warning. She said to him that Ser Barristan had related something to her on the matter that her Grandfather, one of Father’s namesakes once said ‘That Madness and Greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land’ and that her brother’s coin landed on Madness. Luckily, none of his siblings were showing any of the signs or a trace of the Madness, probably due to the infusion of Father’s Northern blood.

Lord Monford nodded gravely at that. “It is the curse of your house, is it not? To have so many great rulers like the Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Aegon the Conqueror, Daeron the Young Dragon and Daeron the Good but to also have Aegon the Unworthy, Aerion Brightflame and the Mad King.”

Aemon nodded. “That is why Ser Jaimie is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He is the only one Father can trust to do what needs to be done, when the time is right.”

Lord Monford went wide eyed in shock. Aemon was initially surprised but after a moment he realised that Ser Jaime’s greatest deed was not widely known until after Father had beaten the Others. “Grandfather placed wildfire caches underneath the city, Ser Jaime chose to uphold his vows as a knight above those to his King, when the time was right. Father trusted that Ser Jaime would do the same in a situation where it was needed.”

Lord Monford went silent for a long time before saying “I can see the wisdom in that,” in an unsure voice.

“I must go.” Aemon said.

“Take some of my men with you my Prince.” Lord Monford said.

Aemon nodded and thirty minutes later they were off the ground and flying across the Narrow Sea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kios is Aemon's dragon: named for spring in valryian
> 
> The House Brune scene may seem pointless but it was there to represent the convincing of the other houses mentioned. E.g. Celtigar, Crabb etc. It was simply a matter of landing the dragon but there is an important detail in that section.


	4. Eddard II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddard II: Jon and Ned talk and Jon tells him of future events . Cat and the children are told the truth of Jon's parentage and Ned observes Jon and Jaime spar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to GOT88 for beta(ing) all the chapters I have written so far and this one. His patience must be legendary because my grammar is terrible. I've updated all the prior chapters with the changes.
> 
> In the last chapter after some feedback, I've edited the section about the Tullys to make it less specific to allow me to consider how to resolve if they will rule the Riverlands and if they do, what their punishment is.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long to put out, I've been busy with Uni coursework. The good news is that I've already written a good chunk of the next chapter which is Jon I, so it shouldn't take too long.

**“Ned Stark a traitor? Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honour.” Jorah Mormont to Quhuru Mo, A Clash of Kings, Chapter 27, Daenerys II.**

**Eddard II**

Jon’s Kingsguard took up position outside his solar as they walked in. Ned sat at his desk. His desk was filled with parchments on grain storage and reports from his bannerman on everything from wilding raids to trade. The solar hadn’t changed much since he assumed the title of the Lord of Winterfell but it never truly felt like it belonged to him. He still felt like he was in his Father’s solar and thus he didn’t feel right changing anything about it.

Maekar was inspecting the bookcases on the flanks of the solar. The books there, were hundreds of years old and contained knowledge on everything from crop rotation to military strategy. Maekar had picked out a book on King Jon Stark’s campaign along the White Knife and was reading it, with apparent great interest. Ned remembered studying that campaign with Maester Walys. Raiders from the East and the Three Sisters were terrorising the smallfolk along the White Knife and they raided as far as Cerwyn and the villages along the shores of Long Lake. King Jon Stark raised a fleet of small boats along with an army and slowly fought his way down the White Knife until he reached its mouth. There he raised the Wolf’s Den, which protected those along the White Knife until the Manderlys built New Castle and the town of White Harbour grew around it. Father used to always say that the rivers of the North were important to keep control of, as in summer they allow commerce and trade and in winter they became the frozen roads, along which food could be brought to the more isolated parts of the North.

Jon was standing by the window looking out into the courtyard. He looked to be both in deep thought and to be reminiscing. He thought back to the Kingsguard, clearly, they were Jon’s. That meant that Jon was King in the future, but how far in the future and for how long was he King? How did he even become King? These were questions that needed to be answered.

Lyarra was sitting across from him. She looked exactly like Arya when she did something wrong that led to her being across from him in his solar. Most of the time he had to hide his smile as he disciplined her, for it was always for something like stealing swords from the armoury like Lyanna used to or wearing Bran’s clothes, like Lyanna wore Ben’s. Lyarra was fidgeting and had her eyes cast down looking at her knees. Ned decided to let Father and Daughter sort out what they needed to, before asking any questions.

There were a couple minutes of dead silence before Jon asked a question quietly but his voice was like ice “The reason?”

Lyarra took a deep breath and looked at the back of her Father before steeling her dark indigo eyes and in a strong voice said “They were going to come back.” The way she said ‘they’ made Ned nervous and curious as to who ‘they’ were.

Jon stopped breathing and seemed to be trying to regain his composure as he turned. “You’re sure?” Jon asked in a quiet but serious tone but with an edge of desperation.

“Yes.” Lyarra said looking straight in Jon’s eyes. Jon nodded after a moment before he turned around and started looking out of the window again.

There was a long silence before Jon asked “How does killing them here, in this time, help Daeron?”

“Uncle Bran said…” Lyarra paused and looked unsure before she answered slowly like she was quoting someone “That all magic of one type is connected and destroying them here will prevent them from coming back in other worlds, where time hasn’t been written.”

Jon looked perplexed for a moment before seeming to accept it and nodded. “If Bran says that it is true, then it must be.”

Jon ran his hand through his hair and walked over and sat beside Lyarra and thus across from him.

There was an awkward silence between them which felt like it lasted an eternity. Ned gathered some courage. “How long has it been?”

“Since I’ve seen you?” Jon asked. Ned nodded. Jon scratched his head. “More then twenty years.” Jon replied and then started counting on his fingers. “Either three and twenty or four and twenty years.” He added after a few moments.

“Lyarra who else came back, if anyone?” Jon asked after he turned to Lyarra.

“The other party is led by Aemon on Kiōs…”

Ned interjected “Is Kay-os a…”

“Kiōs.” Jon interrupted. “Is my son’s dragon.”

After a few moments, Lyarra continued. “Lyanna is with him…” Jon looked puzzled, then worried and then frowned.  The look of worry is familiar to Ned. He had the same feeling after Robb fell of a tree or whenever Bran went climbing on the walls and buildings of Winterfell.

Lyarra saw the look on Jon’s face. “She insisted father.” Jon didn’t say anything but continued frowning.

“Ser Loras and Ser Daemon are there to protect them.”

Jon nodded at that. “Good.” He said.

“Aurane is with them to smooth things over with the Velaryons and finally Aunt Arya and Aunt Sansa are also with Aemon.” Ned smiled. He would see the women that his daughters had become or would, or is it could become?

“I assume that they have some kind of a plan?” Jon asked.

Lyarra nodded. “Aemon will rally the Clawmen and the houses of the Narrow Sea and take Dragonstone. He will update us with a raven.”

Jon frowned. “They’ll need to take it quickly. If they fail then they will besieging a castle with Stannis Baratheon as a commander.” Jon then breathed deeply. “I’ve met Stannis Baratheon, he will not yield.” Jon had met Stannis Baratheon? Ned wondered for a second. Though Jon had a point, if Jon’s son Aemon, fails to take Dragonstone quickly there would be a long siege. Stannis would not yield.

Jon nodded and turned to him. He closed his eyes briefly. Jon seemed to be steeling himself. “If you are to help, you’ll need to have the same knowledge as us.” Jon then breathed deeply. “Where to start…” Jon said. Jon smiled viciously. “Ser Jaime!” Jon shouted. Wait, Ser Jaime? Ned remembered the familiar face on the man with greying hair and a steel hand and then it all clicked into place. Why was the Kingslayer in Jon’s Kingsguard?

A few moments later the man in question walked in with a bounce to his step “Your grace?”  He asked questioningly with a large grin. What followed was one of the longest and hardest conversations of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ned was finishing his sixth cup of ale, as Jon reached his coronation after the Great Council. Ned was overwhelmed by the horror and suffering that would have been inflicted upon his family over the next twenty years. Ned was truly glad that Jon was here to change it. Though he felt selfish for being so. The potential consequences of this magic was at the forefront of his mind, feeding his guilt. The Red Wedding, Jon Arryn’s murder by his own wife and the capture of Winterfell by Theon and the subsequent razing by the Bolton bastard, were events that stuck in his mind. His own wife and firstborn son murdered under guest right by the Freys and the Boltons during the marriage of his good brother Lord Edmure. Jon Arryn, the man that was his Father in everything but blood poisoned, at the hands of his own wife. Ned’s own goodsister, for the ambitions of a southern slimy snake that lusted after his daughter and wife. Theon attacking and capturing Winterfell and the Bolton levies led by Ramsay Snow turning on loyal northerners at the gates of Winterfell. Theon’s men yielding the castle to the Boltons and they proceeded to burn his home, the beating heart of the North.

“I need to think and come up with a plan.” Jon said with some exasperation interrupting Ned’s thoughts. “We need this war to be as bloodless as possible.” Jon then sighed. “We can’t afford another conflict on the scale of the War of the Five Kings.”

“Did you bring some more appropriate clothes for me, Lyarra?” Jon asked after a beat of silence. She nodded. “Good, get someone to leave them in my room.” Jon commanded.

Jon then turned to Maekar who was still engrossed in his book. “Maekar.” Jon called. The boy didn’t respond. “Maekar!” Jon said loudly. The boy jumped ever so slightly.

“Father?” Maekar asked.

 “Go to the ravenry and make sure that no raven leaves Winterfell without my or Lord Stark’s personal permission and presence.” The boy nodded and left quickly.

Jon got up. “I’ll be in the hot springs if you need me.” Jon said.  Jon then went to leave the room. He stopped mid-step and turned to Ned. “You should tell my siblings and Lady Stark about where I come from and who I am…” Jon then grimaced in pain and rubbed his forehead. “We should wait before telling them of what would have happened in the future. My heritage will be troublesome enough to process.”

Nod nodded once. Jon was right, they needed to know about Jon’s… change in status. Jon turned to Lyarra. “Help him.” Is all he said before walking out of the solar quickly and with purpose.

Jon had changed drastically, when he talked… it was hard to argue or disagree with him and to do anything other than comply. He radiated authority like a fire warms a room on the coldest night.  Jon took to becoming King well, unlike Robert. Ned wondered what Jon would do with Robert, he would have to ask him later. Gone was the boy who would hide in corners during a feast or avoid talking to his bannermen. Ned was glad that Jon took to his role well, however he felt guilty for not helping Jon to achieve his potential but at the same time, prominence was dangerous for Jon, until the dragons had appeared.

Ned turned his gaze to Lyarra, she looked so much like Lyanna that it continued to hurt him. She razed an expectant eyebrow.

“Who first?” Lyarra asked after a moment of silence.

“My wife.” Ned said.

Lyarra nodded but Ned did not fail to see the quick frown that graced Lyarra’s face. That made Ned nervous, was Cat’s… mistreatment of Jon known widely?

Ned’s face must have given something of his worry away. “Father never spoke about her but Aunt Sansa and Aunt Arya would always lament and talk sadly about the tension between Father and your wife.” Lyarra said. Ned grimaced, he didn’t fail to notice the tension, it was just difficult for him to intervene without people gossiping and thus risk Jon receiving an inordinate amount of attention which could potentially lead to Jon’s secret being exposed.

He called for the guard outside. “Mi’Lord?” He questioned.

“Summon my wife.” Ned commanded.

“Yes mi’lord.” The guard replied as he nodded and left. The room was silent for a while, the only noise that interrupted the silence was the sound of ale pouring into a mug and Lyarra gulping it every few minutes.

After some time, there was a knock at the door. He bid the knocker to enter. His wife appeared looking concerned, she narrowed her eyes at Lyarra but didn’t comment. Time to dispel and correct seventeen years’ worth of lies.

Lyarra was sitting beside him lazily but his wife sat straight across from them. His wife’s eyes flicked between him and Lyarra nervously.

Ned decided to get this over as quickly as possible. He took a deep breath and with one sentence destroyed the massive wall of lies that he had built. He looked directly in his wife’s eyes, they were Tully blue and looked apprehensive and said “Jon is not my son.”

His wife paled and breathed deeply. Cat was never one for long, uninterrupted silences, she normally was quite loud and proud in stating her opinion but right now she was quiet as those laid to rest in the crypts, she was dead silent. This did not fill Ned with confidence, before he could add anything however, Lyarra started to speak. “Jon Snow is the legitimate son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” She said this with a smile on her face. It was one that was part way between vindictive and happy.

His wife paled further “The boy is…” His wife said as a whisper to herself.

Lyarra sneered and interrupted her. “My Father, is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms and a grown man not a boy.” He tried to interrupt Lyarra but couldn’t find his voice.

Ned finally found his voice as he said. “Lyarra...” Ned nodded to Lyarra. “…and several of Jon’s other children have travelled back in time and by using some sort of magic have placed Jon’s future mind in his current body.”

Cat was silent again. She looked paler then a ghost. “Why?” Cat asked in a quiet voice.

Lyarra began to talk “A lot of bad things…”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ned?” Cat interrupted sharply but quietly. The look on Lyarra’s face portrayed her annoyance at being interrupted but she didn’t comment.

A lot of things ran through Ned’s mind at that question. Her own safety, if Robert had ever found out and she didn’t know, she could claim ignorance and Robert might spare her and his children. If she knew then she might have been… kinder to Jon, which might raise suspicion. Ned took a deep breath.

“If it came to revealing who Jon was and the safety of our children, which would you pick?” Ned asked in a pained voice.

Cat went silent and looked down at her lap dejected. That was answer enough. Ned couldn’t risk Jon’s secret being revealed, he had made a vow to his dying sister and he intended to keep it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later all five of his children entered his solar. They all sat across from him. Lyarra was sitting in the corner reading a book on the Blackfyre rebellions. Though she put it down after all of his children entered. Cat had just retired to their rooms an hour ago, just minutes after he revealed the truth. She said she needed time to think. Which Ned expected.

Rickon was fidgeting and moving in his seat unhappily but looked to be trying hard to be serious and pay attention but seemed to be struggling. Robb seemed to be worried but there was an edge of calm to his demeanour as well. Bran was just sitting looking curiously at Lyarra in the corner. Sansa was sitting, her back straight, and acting composed as would befit a southern lady, it rankled something in the back of his mind.  Arya looked unhappy and a question seemed to be on her lips and after a moment her impulsiveness seemed to get the better of her. “Where is Jon?” She asked sounding annoyed, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Ned when she said it.

Ned decided if he was to explain this to his children, he would have to start at the beginning. He leaned back. “What do you know of the Tourney of Harrenhal?” Ned asked curious as to what his children knew and had heard.

Sansa answered first. “It was the greatest tourney ever, Father.” She said wistfully, sounding like she wanted to be there. She then frowned and in a weak voice said “Prince Rhaegar crowned our Aunt Lyanna over his wife at the end.” She then cast her eyes downward.

Ned gave her a half smile. “It was the greatest tourney of a generation held to honour the tenth name day of Lord Whent’s daughter. It’s prizes where lavish, three times those offered by Lord Tywin Lannister at the Tourney of Lannisport five years earlier, so as you can imagine that there were many challengers who attended, hoping to win the prizes on offer. All the great families of Westeros attended”

The children looked like they were now giving him their full attention. Ned then crossed his arms. “There were rumours surrounding the tourney, that there was going to be a Great Council called. It would explain how Lord Whent could offer such large prizes. For the Whents aren’t a very rich house because of the cost of the maintenance of Harrenhal.”

“A great council? For what?” Robb asked.

Ned smiled. “There were rumours that the Crown Prince wished to depose his Father due to his madness.”  They all seemed confused by this, so Ned decided to go on.

“A lot of knights competed in the Tourney at Harrenhal, everyone from my friend Lord Royce to Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy and even the Crown Prince himself. However, the knight that caused the most controversy was a mystery knight.” Sansa’s eyes went wide in wonder to that.

“The knight challenged one knight from House Blount, one from House Frey and one from House Haigh and for the ransom, only demanded that the knights teach their squires honour.” Ned smiled at this in reminiscence.

“The Mad King was furious and was certain that the knight was involved in some sort of conspiracy and ordered his arrest.” Ned shook his head slightly.

“The Crown Prince later came back with only the shield with the sigil of the knight upon it, claiming that this was the only trace of the knight that he had found.” Ned paused for a second. “I would later find out that this is how the Crown Prince and my sister Lyanna met.”  Sansa gasped out loud.

“Aunt Lyanna competed in a tourney?” Arya asked excitedly.

Ned nodded. “She did it to avenge Lord Reed’s honour, as he was attacked by the three squires of the knights that she later challenged.” Ned smiled to himself. “She took offense at someone attacking a bannerman of House Stark.”

Ned continued after some silence. “The Crown Prince found her discarding the armour that she was wearing and knowing how mad his Father was, allowed Lyanna to leave unmolested, only taking her shield as evidence of the search. He later crowned her Queen of love and beauty to acknowledge her bravery and honour.”

“A couple of weeks later, I don’t know how, but the Mad King discovered the identity of the mystery knight. He sent men to arrest Lyanna. The Crown Prince however managed to rescue her before his Father’s men could get to her.” Ned sighed. “Along the way they fell in love and married at the Isle of Faces.” The children were now all pale and looked shocked.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone father?” Robb asked quietly.

“I didn’t find out that it wasn’t a kidnapping but a rescue, until I found Lyanna dying in a tower in the Dornish marches. The smell of winter roses and blood permeated the air. She was in a bed of blood with a newborn babe squalling, she asked me to protect him and so I did.”

He waited for the realization of who he was talking about to hit them. There was silence for a couple of seconds before Sansa gasped. “Jon.” She said quietly.

“Jon’s daughter from the future…” he nodded at Lyarra. Arya seeming to have just noticed Lyarra narrowed her eyes at Lyarra but Ned could see an edge of wonder to them. “Has put the future version of Jon, one older than me, one who has been king for nineteen years in our current Jon.”

After a long conversation with many questions, Robb asked “Jon is going to be King, isn’t he?”

Ned gave him a single nod.  “With the support of House Stark.” He said as strongly as possible.

The children then left and retired to their rooms. “I’ll have to inform the servants and soldiers of Winterfell of the change in Jon’s status.” Ned said more to himself then Lyarra.

Lyarra nodded at that. “Don’t offer Father a change in room.”

Ned rose an eyebrow at that in question. Lyarra sighed. “Whenever Father visited Winterfell, which was a lot, he slept in his old room, always refusing greater accommodations. Aunt Sansa always tried to convince him otherwise…” Lyarra shook his head. “But Father was always too stubborn.” She said with a slight smile on her face.

Ned felt a question brewing in his mind.

Lyarra looked at him and her head tilted to the side slightly, like she was trying to discern something. Jon used to that when he was younger and when he was being inquisitive, Ned smiled, it was always when Ned mentioned an old northern king or lord like Theon and Cregan Stark. Jon would tilt his head to the side slightly and then unleash a storm of questions. It only happened when he and Jon were alone but it happened.

“What do you wish to know?” Lyarra asked.

Ned breathed deeply. “What was his reign like?”

Lyarra smiled. “All nineteen years of my Father’s reign were prosperous for both lords and smallfolk alike. There were only three relatively short winters, so food was plenty and the smallfolk happy and the lord’s coffers full. Father was politically untouchable for being ‘the Hero of the Dawn’ as the smallfolk called him. Father’s word was law. There was one short war with the three whores after Father cleared out the Stepstones. Father called it ‘unfinished business when I asked why he must go to war with them.” Lyarra shook her head. “Father was a good and just king, he would deny it though. He wasn’t the same though after mother died…” Lyarra trailed off. “I mean…” She stuttered slightly. “He was… He still ruled as well, but there seemed to be light in his eyes before that wasn’t there after.”

Ned felt both sad and happy at that. Jon found love but it didn’t last long. “But your mother is alive now?”

Lyarra gave him a tight smile. “My mother met my Father when she was known as the Mother of Dragons and Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea who had a horde of Dothraki and Unsullied following her. At the moment, my mother is not the woman that she would become and may not ever be now.” Lyarra looked down at her lap.

Ned nodded in understanding. “Who are the Kingsguard that came with you?” Ned asked.

 “It’s the Royal guard now.” Lyarra said.

“Royal guard? Has Jon changed the Kingsguard?” Ned asked, voicing his thoughts aloud, Jon wasn’t one to change the name of something for the sake of it.

Lyarra nodded “You have the Kingsguard, seven knights sworn personally to the King. Each of them has six royal knights under their command. The Lord Commander’s six are tasked with being captains of the City Watch of King’s Landing. Placing the City Watch under the command of the Kingsguard and Lord Commander. The rest are tasked with guarding the Redkeep and the royal family.”

Ned nodded in understanding. Having only seven knights to protect the royal family… always seemed too little. “The knights?” Ned asked.

“Ser Gendry Storm, one of the Usurper’s bastards. He is loyal to Father and fought in the War for the Dawn. Ser Larence Snow, he was Father’s squire before joining the Kingsguard and Ser Edric Dayne, The Sword of the Morning.” The first one surprised Ned, one of Robert’s bastards serving in the Kingsguard of Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, Robert wouldn’t be happy. The second one, was also was surprising that Lord Hornwood’s bastard became Jon’s squire and eventually joined the Kingsguard. Lord Hornwood would be proud, Ned thought to himself.  The last also didn’t surprise Ned, the Daynes and Targaryens had always been close.

Lyarra continued. “Lord Commander Ser Jaime is also here as you know.” Lyarra gave him a tight smile. “Ser Jaime and Father, I have heard went from despising and hating each other to becoming friends over the course of the War for the Dawn. Father is closer to no other, except maybe Samwell Tarly.” Ned was surprised at the friendship between the Kingslayer… no Ser Jaime and Jon but Ned was friends with Robert, so the friendship wasn’t all that unlikely. He didn’t know the last name except that the Tarlys were the Reach’s most martial house and Lord Randyll Tarly was the only one to beat Robert during the rebellion.

Lyarra then hummed. “Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace and Ser Loras Tyrell are with Aemon.” Ned only vaguely knew the latter’s name, a son of Lord Tyrell.

Lyarra then smiled “Ser Medrick Manderly stayed with Daeron as the new Lord Commander.” This confused Ned initially. Ned knew the Manderly’s quite well and Ned didn’t know any Medrick’s, although it was a popular Manderly name.

Then Ned realised. “Ser Marlon just had another son called Medrick…” Ned trailed off.

Lyarra gave a single nod. “That would be him.” Lyarra shook her head. “Father doesn’t feel comfortable without Northerners around. Half the city watch is Northern.” For some reason that gave Ned some comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late at night and Ned couldn’t sleep, his recurrent nightmares of the events of the Tower of Joy prevented it. All those good men lost on both sides, for no reason. They both thought of each other as the enemy but they were allies in purpose, for both sides would have wanted to keep Jon safe. He looked over to his wife as she was sleeping peacefully, she hadn’t fully processed what she had been told and was shaken.

Ned found it difficult to trust his wife in any decision making after Jon relayed the events of the future. The war was inevitable but she started it early, when House Tully and Stark were at a disadvantage. If she had not been so rash and left Lord Tyrion alone, then House Tully could have raised all of their levies and bannerman into a cohesive force rather then the Lannisters smashing the small Tully Army at the Golden Tooth. Thus, maybe preventing them from raiding and tearing their way through the Riverlands before beating Lord Edmure outside Riverrun and laying siege to the home of House Tully.

Her other mistakes also kept forcibly appearing at the forefront of his mind, releasing the Kingslayer without escort in return for just Sansa without any guarantees was foolhardy. Even if Ser Jaime had arrived whole and House Stark still held on, he doubted Sansa would have been released. By releasing Ser Jaime, she severely undermined Robb with his bannermen causing discord within his army and making him look weak, which Robb could not afford. How can he trust his wife to make any decisions at all when she had made such severe mistakes without thinking through the consequences?  Ned grimaced and ran his hand over his face.

The last thing that was at the forefront of his mind, that he was trying to ignore was Petyr Baelish. His wife had trusted him, which led him to trust the snake. It was her blindspot. He wished that his wife hadn’t of begged for the snake’s life and his brother had just finished what he started, they all would have been better off.

Ned got out of bed and dressed. He decided that he needed to think in the Godswood. He walked down the corridor and out of the family wing. As he was walking to the Godswood he heard the repeated sound of steel on steel reverberating out from the training yard. Who was training at this hour? He crept closer and looked in through an archway it was Lannister and Jon, they were sparring. Ned decided to watch.

The Lannister grinned as he opened up with a viscous left strike that went to go across Jon’s body, Jon deflected it with ease and danced left and tried a quick thrust towards Ser Jaime’s chest. The Lannister deflected it upwards and went to punch Jon in the stomach with his steel hand but Jon dodged out of the way and managed to open up a strong slash that looked like it would cut Lannister in half if it connected but the Kingslayer dodged it but barely in time. The speed of the fight was breath-taking, there was no pause or time to think, just back and forth, it seemed to going forever. However, after what seemed like an hour, Jon went to slash at the Lannister’s right but it was a feint and when Lannister went to defend against it, Jon managed to disarm him.

“Yield?” Jon almost said with laugh.

“I yield.” Jaime said with a laugh. “Congratulations your grace, you managed to beat a cripple.” The Lannister said with an arrogant grin.

Jon laughed. “I’m using my left as well, Ser Jaime. You have no excuse.” Ned hadn’t noticed that Jon was using his weaker hand and became even more proud.

The Lannister picked up his sword and turned to Jon “Again? You seem rusty in that green boy’s body.”

Jon nodded and they started sparring again. Ned knew that Jon was skilled with a sword but he didn’t know he was this skilled. They both seemed to know exactly when and where to move and they strike like a viper with decisive quick attacks that would be fatal blows, if not for the skill of their opponent. Their fights were always close but Jon would always win with a feint or a quick sidestep. After a while they stopped and Jon started walking to the old keep where the dragons had decided to roost. Ned didn’t know why, but he decided to follow.

When he saw Jon approach the largest dragon. The big black one that looked like the pictures of Balerion, Ned’s heart seemed to skip a beat and he was unable to breath. Jon approached and started to stroke its snout, the Lannister kept his distance, which annoyed Ned because wasn’t he meant to protect Jon? Ned ended that thought quickly, Lannister would not be able to do anything if this dragon decided to just eat or burn Jon.

“Hey boy, you know me, right?” Jon said as he started stroking the dragon. The dragon huffed and let out a plume of smoke and purred like a cat.

The dragon groaned. It sounded almost… mournful. Jon sighed “I miss her to.” Jon said, his voice almost breaking.  Jon was stroking the dragon for several minutes before it let out a noise.

Jon looked confused but then his face was graced with one of his rare smiles. “Are you sure?” The dragon dipped his head and before he knew it, Jon had climbed on and they flew off, the wings flapping loudly and causing a rush of air. Ned didn’t know how to feel about Jon taking night-time dragon rides.

It was at this point that Lannister turned his attention to Ned and he walked over. Ned didn’t go as unnoticed as he thought. “I would say you get used to them.” The Lannister then added with a grin. “You don’t.” The Lannister then stalked off with a spring in his step. As he was leaving Ned’s sight the Lannister called out “You raised a great king, Stark.” Ned couldn’t help but smile at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing written about Jon Stark is that he raised the Wolf's Den in response to eastern raiders (probably Andals) I expanded upon this as a full millitary campiagn in which the starks gained control of the White Knife, I also added the sisters as a combatant because they were once as bad as the ironborn.
> 
> Gendry is a waters but everyone calls him a storm because of his obvious stormlander blood and the wish of Stormlanders to claim him as one of their own. So over time people stopped calling waters and started referring to him as 'storm'.
> 
> The later bits of this chapter (the sparring onwards) occurring chronologically after the next chapter.


	5. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only gods he worshipped were honour and duty.” Melisandre’s thoughts on Jon Snow, A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 31, Melisandre I.
> 
> Jon thinks on the state of the Seven Kingdoms and his potential actions. Meets with Robert and Theon. Then talks with Abel the Bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys.
> 
> This chapter is the longest yet and is over 7000 words. I hope to get a chapter out before the end of next week but no promises because exams are upcoming. 
> 
> Update: Chapter will be even more delayed exams are getting in the way. Not sure on release date. I had one evening with an hour or two and wrote a little bit to the next chapter and the outline, the day after this was posted. However I haven't had time since then.
> 
> This story is now over 25,000 words and thus is longest thing I have ever written. Thanks to those who comment, bookmark and give me Kudo's. I appreciate all feedback, positive and negative.
> 
> Finally, thanks to GOT88 again for beta(ing) this chapter. 
> 
> The next chapter will be Daenerys I.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

**“The only gods he worshipped were honour and duty.” Melisandre’s thoughts on Jon Snow, A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 31, Melisandre I.**

**Jon I**

The hot springs of Winterfell were one of the only places left in the castle where he could now find any measure of peace. He breathed in the cold fresh air of the Godswood as he waded into the pool. The water was just perfect in temperature. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He bathed in the peaceful situation that he was currently in. As King he rarely, if ever, found anytime for himself, just to think. The Godswood as always had thick feel to it, a presence, to Southerners it was unsettling but to Northerners it brought comfort and tranquillity. He still worshipped his mother’s gods in private, even if he did give lip service to the Faith publically. His hand instinctually went to rub his scars on his chest but found them missing. It was a relief to find them vanished and it caused him to realise that he had not felt warm since… his first death. Jon again took a deep breath to steady himself. The shock upon seeing the number of faces that he had consigned himself to mourn long ago, alive and well when he was jolted into his younger self had overwhelmed him while simultaneously lifting a weight off his shoulders. He had a chance to change things and fix a lot of wrongs and mistakes, but he also felt tired, not sleepy, but just tired of ruling. He put that thought to the back of his mind, he had to do his duty. He is the last son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms, his duty was to the people of Westeros, all of them.

Jon pondered over the situation of the Seven Kingdoms. Aemon had hopefully started rallying the Point and the houses of the Narrow Sea to capture Dragonstone. This was good. To take King’s Landing, you must cut it off from outside help first by sea and then surround it by land. To do this the Gullet must be cut off and controlling Driftmark and Dragonstone were the key to controlling the Gullet and Blackwater Bay as a whole. Hopefully, a raven would come in a few days with good news in that regard. If not, he would have to come up with an alternate plan. Dragonstone being charred and turned into a new Harrenhal was not an option, so it must be taken by more conventional means. Stannis would not yield the castle unless… Jon smiled to himself. Stannis would yield if Robert ordered him to. Stannis was dutiful and would not disobey an order from the man who he considered to be the rightful King.

His thoughts then shifted to the Vale. He could not allow the murderer of his namesake to remain at large. He would need to arrest her and then drag that weasel’s child off the Falcon throne, it was not the boy’s fault, yet he had no claim to the title of Lord of the Eyrie. He felt sorry for the boy who was going to be reduced from the son and heir of one of the oldest Andal houses in Westeros to the bastard of a wayward daughter and a man who had barely enough land or blood to call himself part of the nobility. Going from a High Lord to a bastard would be a difficult transition. He knew the pain that came from being a bastard, the boy however would lead a good, albeit short life. The boy could live in Winterfell with his cousins or maybe Riverrun.

The boy’s father was a different case altogether, he felt nothing but pure disgust for him, the nerve of that man to take a Mockingbird as his sigil. A bird that was known for laying its eggs in the nests of other birds. He must see everyone but himself as an idiot. Then again Jon thought to himself that he did not question the parentage of the boy until after Bran had informed him about his doubts about Robert Stone’s paternity. He had never seen the Vale Knights as angry as they were in the moment that they realised they were following the great-grandson of a Braavosi sellsword. The question was, who to replace the boy with?

Harrold Hardyng was the heir of House Arryn and would be the best option. Jon doesn’t remember much about him, other then that he had the traditional Arryn look of blond hair, blue eyes. He had perished in the War for the Dawn. Jon wished that he could just make House Royce, the Lords of the Eyrie, but the Lords of the Vale were unlikely to accept this decision while an Arryn heir was still alive, sadly. He had gotten on well with Lord Bronze Yohn, plus they were not only a house with the blood of the First Men but were also kin to the Starks and thus himself. Remembering back to his lessons with Maester Luwin, his Grandfather’s great grandmother and his Grandmother’s grandmother was the same Royce. Lorra Royce. So, while the Royces weren’t close kin, they were still kin.

He would need to secure the Vale quickly, he needed their knights. While the dragons were decisive in winning battles, he needed armies to capture and hold territories along with acting as an anvil for the dragons to destroy the enemy armies on. Cavalry were the best option for this kind of warfare and the Knights of the Vale were some of the finest cavalry in Westeros. They were also not as disagreeable as the Reach Lords. The Reach Lords would have endless squabbles over this and that minor issue. The Vale Lords were arrogant too in their own way but that came with benefits. They saw themselves as above politics and thus squabbled less among each other.

His best option would be to visit Lord Royce first, as he was perceived as a military leader by the other Lords of the Vale, if Lord Royce readily submitted to him, then the rest of the Vale would not offer much resistance. He also needed to get his hands-on Harry the Heir. Sansa had told him… Where did she say he was when recounting the tale of what happened to her? Lady Waynwood… that was it. He was with the Waynwoods at… Ironoaks. So, force the Royces to submit, then the Waynwoods. Fly to Eyrie and remove Lysa Tully and her son.

His thoughts turned to the Reach. He couldn’t in good conscience allow the Tyrells to remain in control of the Reach. They were much like the Freys… Jon felt his temper rise but breathed deeply to calm himself. They were like the Freys before the Red Wedding, except with flowers and nice clothes and a more charming demeanour. Mace Tyrell was a grasping opportunist and could not be allowed to remain Lord over such a large and important part of his kingdom. The Tyrells also needed to be punished for their inaction during the rebellion. You did not need the entirety of the Reach forces to besiege a castle with a garrison of less than five hundred men. Their actions were those of an unleal vassal. If it was any other great lord, he might have given them a second chance. The Tyrells however, were raised from stewards to great lords by his family and they owed his family a debt. Which they didn’t pay. They were also easy to replace. The Reach Lords barely tolerated them as it was.

Who to replace them with? The Hightowers were not an option as Jon thought back to his history lessons with Maester Luwin, particularly the Dance of Dragons. He would not reward a house which drove the realm to civil war. The Florents, who had the best claim were tied to Robert through Stannis and Selyse’s marriage and thus were not an option. The Tarlys, Jon didn’t like Randyll Tarly, they also lacked the claim to Highgarden that other reach houses possessed. So, they were also, not an option. The Rowans were the best option, they had Gardener blood and Mathis Rowan was competent and a noted loyalist. Jon briefly thought of the Manderleys but thought better of it, they were now too northern to be accepted quickly by the Reach Lords. He needed their men and thus he needed them at accept their new liege lord quickly. House Rowan, it is then. Jon wished that he could do as he had done before and put Sam in charge. However, Sam wouldn’t be respected by the Reach Lords and it would anger Lord Randyll Tarly, who Jon needed. Also, Sam wasn’t yet the man who he would eventually become and Jon needed competent men in charge, not a meek fat boy. Jon hated himself for a moment but now was not the time for sentimentally. He had a duty to the realm.

The Westerlands… in his old life, Tyrion became lord and then Martyn after… here this was not an option. Tyrion only turned on his family after the truth behind the incident with Tysha was revealed. If he revealed the truth to Tyrion, it would look like a ploy to buy loyalty and thus he wouldn’t have loyalty. This left Jon with one option, he needed to depose House Lannister and replace them. None of the other houses in the Westerlands had the power or blood claim to become Lord Paramount and the Lannisport Lannisters were too loyal to the main house to become Lords of the Westerlands. The path was clear, it needed to be given to someone whose loyalty could not be questioned. Bran… he will marry one of the Lannister girls, or maybe Myrcella and become Lord of the Westerlands. That was the best option, unless another presented itself. He would have to replace a few lords like the Lannisport Lannisters but what was a Stark without a pack of loyal Northerners.

Then the most glaring problem presented itself to him. With the Dornish he would need to present them with a finished conquest, the only thing they would need to do is to bend the knee to the dragons again. The North was already his… even though the rest of the Northerners didn’t know it yet. The Stormlands couldn’t be settled until he controlled all the other kingdoms. The Riverlands were his issue. He wished to rid himself of the grasping hands of the Tyrells, but he couldn’t leave the Tullys unpunished if he did that. It would look unjust to punish a House which while unleal did answer the call to banners and not punish one which rebelled not for justice but for advancement and greed.

The Starks had risen for their murdered heir and lord, the Baratheons for an unjust order for execution and House Arryn to protect their wards. House Tully only rose after they extracted marriages from the rebels. They rose for greed. The issue lay with the fact that he liked Lord Edmure, he was a good peacetime lord and the fact that he was kin through marriage to the Tullys complicated it further. The last issue is the lack of an alternative. If he chose the Blackwoods, the Brackens would be outraged and if he chose the Brackens, the Blackwoods would be outraged. So, both of them weren’t an option. The Freys were not option, for Jon would never trust a Frey. The Darrys were too weak as were the Mootons and the heir to the Whents were the Tullys. No other houses were an option. He would have to think more on this problem because an obvious solution wasn’t presenting itself.

Jon was broken out of his thoughts by a small whimper. Jon opened his eyes. There right beside him, was his ever-faithful companion. “Ghost.” Jon said tears forming in his eyes. Which he quickly blinked away. “It has been so long.” He picked up the small bundle of white fur and brought him close. “I have missed you.” Jon had not seen ghost in many years. Ghost had died in his sleep of old age, he lived a long life for a wolf, over twenty years.  But here was his faithful companion, the small white ball of fur alive again.

Jon waded out of the pool and changed back into his clothes. He walked back to his room carrying ghost with him, ignoring the staring of the guards and servants at his escort of four heavily armed and armoured Kingsguard trailing him. He reached his room to find clothes worthy of a king, out and laid gently on his bed. He then noticed in the corner his valyrian steel armour. He remembered the sound of Valyrian steel on Valyrian steel. The high almost ringing sound. He had won the armour after he had defeated Euron in single combat. Theon and Asha’s Ironborn insisted that he take the armour ‘for he had payed the Iron Price’ they said. Most of the Ironborn respected him after that. Well, as much as they could respect a greenlander. His men later told him that the duel had lasted near ten minutes. He only remembers the sound of Valyrian steel ringing off as his sword struck Euron’s armour and then finding a gap in Euron’s defences and stabbing the man in the neck. He had the armour reforged and recoloured by Tobho Mott, to better fit him and display his house. It wouldn’t be a perfect fit now, but it would do and he would grow into it. Now however, wasn’t the time for armour. He changed into his clothes. Clothes of black and red, displaying his house but not too extravagant. He strapped Longclaw to his side as he finished. A knock came at the door.

“Enter.” Jon called out.

Lyarra entered with… a crown. His crown. He had chosen King Maekar’s crown after much deliberation. His first choice was the Conqueror’s but the Martells still insisted that they didn’t have it. Jon didn’t believe them. He briefly considered wearing Daeron the Good’s crown but decided against it after realizing that Daeron II had worn the same crown as his father Aegon the Unworthy in an attempt to dispel rumours that he had been sired by Aemon the Dragon knight and not Aegon IV. Thus, the crown that Daeron II wore was not elegant but a massive gold monstrosity and thus was not in keeping with the tone that he wished to set for his own reign. The crown that he chose in the end was Maekar’s, a simple band with spikes jutting out of it. Around the main band of the crown, he had dragons and wolves weaved and carved. Representing his mixed heritage. Lyarra walked up to him and gently placed it on his head. She gave him a kiss on his cheek.

“How do I look?” Jon asked.

“You look handsome, Father.” Lyarra replied. Jon frowned.

Lyarra laughed. “You truly do.” She said. Jon just rolled his eyes.

Ghost then started whimpering excitedly and nipping at Lyarra’s feet in an attempt to get her attention. Lyarra went wide eyed and her face was graced by a smile. “Ghost!” Lyarra squealed and picked him up. “He is so small.” Lyarra said with a smile.

“That he is.” Jon responded quietly.

“How did they react?” Jon asked.

Lyarra frowned. “They were all shocked. I don’t think Rickon understood.”

“Understandable.” Jon said with a sigh. “He is still young.”

Lyarra gave him a single nod. Lyarra then stared at him for a bit too long,

“Yes?” Jon asked.

Lyarra shook her head. “It’s just weird seeing you look so young, Father.”

Jon then stalked across the room. “What is Lord Stark doing?”

“He is gathering the servants and guards to inform them of your heritage.” Lyarra said. Jon wondered about their reaction. The story of the kidnapping and rape of his mother was widespread. He wondered how the people of Winterfell would react both to his heritage and his claim. Jon furrowed his brows. He hoped it wasn’t negative, as it wouldn’t bode well for the Northern Lords, if the people of Winterfell reacted badly. Jon knew he could coax the Northern Lords eventually, but he had better things to do then spend a week arguing with Northern Lords.

“Go help him.” Jon said making a decision. Hoping the likeness of his Mother would help in making the older servants come around to supporting him. Lyarra nodded and made her way out. A worry come to the forefront of his mind… Lyarra may on the surface look more Stark then Targaryen but the way she held herself and talked and she rode in on a dragon… Lya would need to look more Stark. Jon looked to his faithful companion and made a decision. He picked him and looked into his red eyes. “Go with her, Ghost.” As soon as he said it, Ghost scurried out of and jumped from his arms and started running after her.

Jon left his crown on a table and made his way out as soon as he stepped out of the door four Kingsguards fell in behind him. As he was walking he remembered Robert’s Kingsguard. “Are Blount and Trant dead?” Jon asked in a cold voice remembering back to the stories that Sansa told him of how they relished in being able to beat her.

“Trant is… but Blount is too much of a coward and didn’t even try to fight.” Jaime responded with a shake of his head and a look which made his opinion of disgust for Blount clear.

Jon just shook his head. Blount could join the Watch, they always needed men. However, Jon remembered talking to Jaime about the Kingsguard and how by Tommen’s reign, Blount was a glorified food taster because he had no skill or ability. Jon then remembered how he had found a use for Sam and surely Blount must be useful in some capacity.  He could always be a builder… He would give Blount the choice of the block or the Black.

Jon then stopped dead in his tracks. “Your brother…” Jon said quietly. Jaime went wide eyed. Where was Tyrion? He could be halfway to Cerwyn by now or sent a raven to Casterly Rock or King’s Landing. They needed to retain the element of surprise. He could not let this happen. “Where is your Brother?” Jon asked after a couple of seconds.

Jaime looked to be deep in thought. Jaime’s body then seemed to relax in relief. He then laughed. “He is in the brothel of Wintertown.” Jaime said. “I had to remind him that there was going to be a feast” Jaime then gave him a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he still there… even with all the commotion.”

Jon made a snap decision. “Gendry, Larence go to Lord Stark and gather some guards and find Lord Tyrion and escort him back so that he can enjoy the hospitality of House Stark. We can’t have him running off and warning anyone or finding a raven.” Jon then paused remembering Varys and his little birds, as Sansa said Varys had called them. “Edric go with them and gather more guards and sweep Winterfell and Wintertown for orphans, if any do not have their tongues arrest them.” He saw a twinkle of disgust in Jaime’s eye. Jon couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment.

All three bowed and said “Your Grace.” and ran off. Jon continued walking to his destination but he could almost hear Jaime’s wish to speak. He was breathing slowly and deeply, like he was steeling himself to say something. This intrigued Jon as Jaime was never one to keep his wry comments to himself.

“Yes, Jaime?” Jon inquired as he came to an abrupt halt. Trying to get Jaime to speak aloud what was troubling him.

“In your retelling of the future to Lord Stark… You said your brother fell… but not how…” Jaime then breathed deeply. He then mumbled out in a quite voice. “Thank you.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. He still had a gut instinct to be angry with Jaime for his actions. Jon initially wanted to take Jaime’s head when he turned up at Winterfell with a few hundred Lannister Soldiers and the scrapings of the Riverlords and Lord Edmure in tow. Bran then told him that Jaime must be forgiven for all of his actions, including pushing Bran from the tower. Jon initially couldn’t. It was not until Jaime’s actions in the War for the Dawn that Jon gained a grudging respect for him. It was hard not to forgive and begin to like a man that you fought through the seven hells with and The War for The Dawn was worse then the seven hells described in The Seven-Pointed Star. Which Jon had the unfortunate pleasure of having to read when ascended to his throne. It was long and boring but Jon needed to understand the faith of the vast majority of his subjects. For how could he be the King of a people he did not fully understand?

Jon pointedly looked at Jaime’s steel hand. “You have paid for your actions both bad and good. Telling Lord Stark would just lead to you suffering twice for the same crime, which is not justice.” Jaime then looked at him gratefully and gave him a single solemn nod before they continued walking.

They came to the quarters where Robert Baratheon was being kept. It had only been a few hours since Robert had been locked in. There were two Stark guards guarding the entrance, Lew and Jacks. Lew was a burly middle-aged man with dark hair and ice blue eyes. He had been a Winterfell guard longer than he could remember. He was also one of the guards that had joined Robb on his march south and never came back.

Jacks was a younger guard at three and twenty, he had brown hair and brown eyes with a lithe build. He was of the few of Father’s household guard to survive King’s Landing and eventually turned up with Father’s bones along with the small scattering of a force that Lord Reed had gathered, it was made up of survivors from the South and some of the men who survived the Battle at the Gates of Winterfell. He defended Father’s bones from five Ironborn before being found by Lord Reed and his men. He was the only one of Hal’s men, who were tasked with the escort, to survive. He died in the War for the Dawn. Jon would have had his bones buried in the lichyard, reserved for the most leal servants of House Stark, but he had to burn the body. He could feel the images of the hundreds of dead and dying creeping into his mind’s eye. He blinked and banished the thoughts.

He nodded at them and they looked at him strangely before opening the door. The room was one of the finest in Winterfell. He heard stomping in the background like somebody was pacing. He took one look at Jaime. Jaime just gave him a hapless smile. Jon hated that smile. It implied that Jon didn’t know what he was getting into.

He saw Robert Baratheon pacing at the back of the room. He remembered back to his memories of Robert’s first, from his perspective, arrival at Winterfell. He had heard stories of the King, of The Demon of the Trident and how he had sought out the evil dragon prince and slew him with one smash of his warhammer. Sending the rubies on Rhaegar’s, his father’s, breastplate flying into the Trident. When the man reached Winterfell… Jon was disappointed. All he saw was a red faced, fat, drunken letch. The man in the flesh hadn’t yet noticed him and was continually pacing back and forth.

Jon decided to get his attention. He cleared his throat. “Usurper.” He called. “Are you enjoying Lord Stark’s hospitality?” Jon asked wryly.

The man stopped dead in his tracks. Fittingly Jon thought, he stopped just like a deer did when it thought it heard a hunter or a large sound, they would normally run off only a second later. Jon could only hope to be so lucky. “Bastard?” Robert questioned.

“No.” Is all Jon said.

“No?” Robert further questioned.

“I’m not a bastard.” Jon said. Robert’s confusion seemed to grown. “Haven’t you worked it out yet?” Jon asked. All Jon got was a face full of further confusion, “Who I am?” Jon clarified. He pointed out the red three headed dragon on his chest.

Robert furrowed his eyebrows and went narrowed eyed. “You’re Ned’s son.” Is all Robert said almost in denial, there was the beginnings of a simmering heat in his voice.

 “Jaime.” Jon said.

Robert then moved his gaze to Jaime. He went narrow eyed and then there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Kingslayer?” Robert asked quietly and with confusion.

Jaime cleared his voice and stood straight and his face went blank and like many times before announced “You stand in the presence of Jaehaerys, the Third of his name, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros, the Rightful King of Andals, the Rhoynar and the Firstmen, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and The Protector of the Realm.” Jaime then with a vicious grin added to his normal honorifics, when he said “and the trueborn son of Lyanna of the House Stark and Rhaegar of the House Targaryen.”

Robert started breathing heavily. It was steady but harsh. He could almost feel the anger rising in Robert. It almost radiated out. It took a couple of seconds before Robert charged at him with full force and a large growl, and he looked to be the embodiment of his house words. However, before Robert could reach him Jaime had his sword at Robert’s neck. Jon made sure not to flinch. Robert was ranting and raving unintelligibly. He managed to understand a few words ‘rapespawn’, ‘dragonspawn’ and ‘Lyanna’s murderer’ among them.

“Harm his grace, and I will cut you down where you stand.” Jaime said coolly but with a steel edge to his voice. Robert paused, though the anger was still simmering in his eyes. They almost seemed to burn with hatred. His pupils seemed alight.

After a few seconds, Robert’s eyes turned from a blaze which could burn all the Wolfswood to one that could burn down King’s Landing. “Are you done yet?” Jon asked in a calm voice. The one that he used back when Aegon would have a temper tantrum over having to go to bed. He missed the children who hadn’t come. He would never be able to see Daeron, Rhaella and Aegon again. It made his heart feel not whole. Jon however needed to focus on the present.

Robert then stood up straight, but he still looked to be poised for another attack, but for now was no longer trying to find a way past Jaime’s sword. He stood straight with his arms by sides and his fists clenched in anger, all the while glaring at both him and Jaime with intense hatred.

Jon then paused wanting to order his thoughts. “I will ensure that someone of Baratheon blood will rule the Stormlands. All I ask is that you write a letter and seal it with your royal seal, ordering your brother to stand down and yield Dragonstone.” Jon then paused. “You personally have the choice of the Block or the Black. Choose wisely and quickly.” Jon said. He narrowed his eyes. “My brother and sister weren’t offered this choice.” Jon said. “If you choose the latter all your crimes will be forgiven. If you choose the former, I will take your head myself. The choice is yours.”

Jon then swept out of the room. He hated having to offer the man who had called his brother and sister ‘Dragonspawn’ mercy, but he must appear to be magnanimous. Robert rose justly after the Mad King had called for his head. Robert never directly laid a hand on his brother and sister, he just relished in their deaths. The Night’s Watch also needed men with ability and none could deny that Robert Baratheon was a gifted warrior both in personal combat and in command. The thing that tipped the balance in offering the man mercy was the niggling feeling in the back of his mind of the utility that the Demon of the Trident could offer and provide when facing the others. It would also make him look better among the Lords and Ladies of the realm and signal to those who wish to defect and who had fought against House Targaryen in the past that he was willing to pardon them.

However, he couldn’t escape the thought that he was failing in seeking justice for his murdered siblings. Jon however banished the thought. Robert may have doomed his siblings to death by declaring himself King. He did not however lay a hand on them. He would meet out justice to the true perpetrators. The Mountain, Amory Lorch and Tywin Lannister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had one last region of Westeros to deal with aside from the Riverlands. He needed the Ironborn, or rather their naval ability and ships. Not just for the immediate war but for The War for the Dawn as well. Their ships can be used to keep trade lines open with the Free Cities and supply the men that will fight at the wall and in the far north. For soldiers aren’t effective if they do not have food and other essential supplies. He would not have it like the last time, he would not have the heroes who were about to sacrifice themselves for everyone, die hungry. Jon remembered that by the time of victory, a good chuck of his men had been emaciated. He could not let that happen again.

He decided to visit the only Iron Islander in Winterfell. Theon. Ser Jaime was as always, a step behind him. He knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Theon called out.

Jon did. The room was of a similar size and quality to his. He realises now that must have rankled Theon’s pride as the self-declared heir to one of the Seven Kingdoms had been given the near same quarters as a bastard. He pushed anything resembling sentimentality and sympathy down. It was hard not to feel… some level of affection for those you grown up around, regardless of whether you had a good relationship.  He however had to put his ‘King’ face on. Theon after all did betray Robb, take Winterfell and murdered two innocent children. If rumours were to be true, they were his own children. No one is more accursed in the eyes of the gods then a Kinslayer, Jon thought to himself. The rumours were probably true, Jon had heard Theon boasting of his conquests with a Miller’s wife. The gods had not taken their time in their judgement. For Theon went from an arrogant and cocky lordling to a creature Jon did not have the ability to even be angry at rather quickly. The thought made Jon uncomfortable as it implied that the Boltons were the tool by which the gods procured their vengeance.

Theon stopped what he was doing and looked wide eyed at him. Theon truly looked different from that creature. Whereas Reek was meek, never met anyone’s eyes and was hobbled by both fear and a lack of toes. Theon met his eyes, looked strong and healthy but there was an edge of arrogance and inexperience in his eyes as well. Jon had met lots of young lordlings during his reign and Theon did not seem all that different to the multitude of Lordlings who spent their time trying to attract his attention to whatever vague dispute they were having with another House.

Theon seemed to notice that he was being judged but for once seemed to keep his mouth shut. “Have you been told?” is all Jon asked in a low voice.

Theon nodded once. “Robb told me.” Theon said in a low voice.

Jon nodded. “Good.” Jon said and habitually stroked his chin in thought. “You will write to your Father to inform him of my ascension to the throne of Westeros and my expectation of fealty.”  Jon then gave a long pause. “He will not accept my ascension and will most likely try to revive the Old Way.” Theon started to look like the nervous young boy who had shown up at Winterfell. Good, Jon thought. Theon most likely thought his head was on the line. Which while not true, would lead to some encouragement for Theon to act the way Jon wanted him to. “Therefore, you will write to your Uncle Rodrick and your sister and inform them of the dragons and their size. You will tell them if Balon starts raiding anyone, be they my ally or enemy, that he will be taught the same lesson as Harren the Black and Pyke will be talked of in the same breath as Harrenhal. Am I clear Theon?”  Jon asked. He waited expectantly for an answer.

It came. Theon nodded once and said “I understand.”

Jon then nodded and left. While he was walking to his next destination, Jon thought over the situation with the Ironborn. They lacked fertile land and the manpower to mine their Iron mines effectively. This left them poor and destitute. It was no wonder that they eventually turned to raiding and pillaging up and down the western coasts of the Seven Kingdoms in their search for wealth and slaves for their mines. Jon needed to find a way to permanently deal with this issue to stop them from raiding again. To prevent raiding, Jon needed to deal with the reason that the Ironborn raided in the first place.  Jon had found a solution of making the Ironborn the sailors of choice for the Royal fleet but he worried that this solution might not be repeatable. It only came about due to the disastrous campaigns of Balon and Euron Greyjoy. Jon worried that the Ironborn’s pride would come before their sense. Jon also really wanted to avoid carrying out his threat. He needed the Ironborn ships and sailors.

“Your grace.” Someone called out. Jon turned to see Gendry and Larence returning. They were smiling. So, it was good news Jon thought to himself. “Were you successful?” Jon asked and looked expectantly.

Gendry nodded. “Lord Stark gave us and Edric the guards we needed and we found Lord Tyrion in the brothel.” Gendry said “He was surprised to see us.” Gendry added with a smile. Good, Jon though to himself. Winterfell was now in the immediate future secure. Now to deal with some problems that of a lower priority.

“Jaime. Go find the lute player named Abel and lock him in the dungeons.” Jon said.

Jaime gave him a look incredulity and looked to want to ask a question but seemed not to want to question him. Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s Mance Rayder.” Jon said. “I need to speak to him.” Jaime seemed to relax and then gave him a short bow and stalked off.

‘What next?’ Jon thought to himself. He needed to speak to Lord Stark and update him on his plans regarding the Seven Kingdoms. So, he walked off in the direction of Lord Stark’s solar. Jon didn’t really know what to call Lord Stark. He felt more like a Father then an Uncle but… it was difficult to live a lie created for him. Lord Stark was his Father in many ways, he had raised him, taught him and protected him but at the same time he couldn’t help but to be hurt that Lord Stark had allowed him to join the Watch, not knowing. He felt a bubble of resentment building in him. He pushed it down with a deep breath. There was a time and a place to deal with this issue but now was not that time or place.  The resentment and his anger however refused to be let go or pushed down. He couldn’t face Lord Stark now, he could not control his anger.

He started walking off to the yard. “Jon.” Someone called. Jon stopped dead in his tracks. It was his Uncle Benjen. He had never seen him again after the day he had left for the ranging North of the wall. He hated to think of what had happened to his Uncle. He could imagine in his mind’s eye the picture of his Uncle being torn limb from limb. The sinews of his muscles being pulled apart by wights. The blood being sprayed forcefully out and covering the surrounding area. He could almost taste the blood. The deep metallic taste. It brought revulsion to his mind. Jon breathed deeply to calm himself.

Jon turned. “Uncle Benjen.” Jon said with a nod.

Benjen gave him a grim but kind smile. “We’ll talk later.” Benjen then looked to his Kingsguard. “I can see you’re busy.”

Jon gave him a nod. “Later.”

Jon however wasn’t done. “Uncle?” Jon asked.

Benjen turned around and looked at him.

Jon gulped. “When we talk, can you tell me about her?” Jon asked nervously.

Benjen gave him a nod and a smile. “I will.” He said. Jon returned the smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little while later a servant arrived with a message from Jaime saying that he had caught and imprisoned Abel the Bard. He made his way towards the dungeons. He walked down the dark corridor and found Jaime leaning on the wall opposite a cell. He pointed at the cell, Jaime gave him a nod.

He walked in front of the cell but Mance was in the back in the cell, where it was dark and his features could not be seen. “Abel, an anagram of Bael. Clever.” Jon said with a smile. “Not as bold as the man himself but still bold.” Jon then hummed. “What is the King Beyond the Wall doing in Winterfell?” Jon asked. The man didn’t respond. He respected the man’s boldness and the man in general for uniting the wildings, when no one else had or could. He also did it for a good purpose, the loss of every wilding was a disaster for the cause of the living.

“You’re Lyanna Stark’s son?” Mance asked. Jon wasn’t surprised that he had managed to guess the truth. Mance was a sharp man, he wouldn’t have united the freefolk if he wasn’t. Even the freefolk balk at those who break vows made before weirwoods.

Jon nodded once. “I have dragons and I will soon have Westeros but the reclaiming of my family’s rightful place is not my greatest concern.”

Jon could see curiosity building in Mance’s brown eyes. So, Jon continued, he decided to not tell the full truth as it wouldn’t be helpful. “The cold wind rises.” Jon said, Mance’s eyes were now burning with curiosity. “Only a common enemy not seen in thousands of years could unite so many of the wildlings under one leader. A common enemy that will take the might of Westeros to even challenge.”

Mance now looked stunned. “How do you know?” Mance asked.

Jon breathed deeply. “One of my ancestors, Daenys the Dreamer, foretold the doom of Valyria. This led to her ancestors retreating to the poor wet Valyrian outpost of Dragonstone. It was only because of Daenys that House Targaryen exists. For she could peer into the future. Another one of my ancestors defeated the Marsh King and took one of his daughters for a wife, thus subduing the Neck for House Stark. The Marsh Kings were famous for being powerful wargs. Another one of my ancestors defeated the Warg king and took one of his daughters for a wife, thus subduing Sea Dragon Point. It is said that one in a thousand men are wargs and one in a thousand of them are Greenseers.” Jon tilted his head. “A person born of two great lines, one of House Stark containing the blood of two great lines of wargs and the other of House Targaryen containing the power of dragon dreams, would hold immense power in being able to foresee what was going to happen.” Jon gave Mance a smile. “Do you understand?”

Mance gave him a nod. Jon smiled. “I will release you. I will be back once I’ve secured the Seven Kingdoms. My terms to the freefolk…” Mance smiled at that. “… are simple. I will let them south of the wall. In return for the duration of the war to come, the freefolk will fight beside those of the rest of the kingdoms.” Mance gave a him a nod. “The custom of wife stealing will be kept between freefolk, no one outside the freefolk may be stolen without prior consent.” Mance nodded. “Lastly, you must keep the King’s peace.” Jon added. Mance looked concerned. “I will not ask to kneel. I just ask that you keep to the rules of the land you’re in, when in it. You and your chieftains will carry out justice to those who violate the King’s peace.” Mance didn’t react. “Are these terms agreeable?” Jon asked after a moment.

After a minute Mance nodded. “Aye, they are.” Mance said.

“One last thing.” Jon said. Mance looked at him expectantly. “I need some wights.” Jon could almost feel the chill in the room.

“I understand.” Mance said. “You will have them by the time you return.”

Jon smiled. “Release him.” Jon commanded.

Jon left the dungeon swiftly after releasing Mance. He still needed to burn some of his anger and frustration off. “Jaime, I need to spar.” Jon said. Jaime gave him a knowing look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://imgur.com/XqSCXix- Maekars crown as I see it.
> 
> I have made Robert Arryn the son of Baelish. It has always been headcannon for me. It also seems likely because the Arryn's always had distinctive colouring. Sweetrobin looks nothing like his parents but shares a lot of descriptive similarity to a younger Baelish. Also Jon Arryn wasn't particularly fertile and had no children with his prior wives. There is also Littlefinger's sigil. So Robert Arryn=Robert Stone in this story. Jon knows and will use it as his trump card to take over the vale and get rid of Lysa.
> 
> If someone has a good way to punish the Tully's without removing them as LP, please do comment. I have a few ideas, but I want to chuck it out there for discussion.
> 
> Jon & Jamie is a weird relationship. It took him years to trust Jaime. Jaime is probably the person now closest to Jon outside of family. It also for me completes his redemptive arc. For the only thing he felt guilty about was failing to protect Rhaegar's children. Jon gives him the opportunity to correct this mistake.
> 
> Jacks and Lew are guards mentioned in ASOIAF. The exposition about them conforms to what we know from cannon.
> 
> Just to clarify, This is a mixture of show and book cannon. The ages are show cannon but other things are book cannon. There are things I've completely changed from the show as well, where it has been stupid, for example Jon and Sansa's Northern Campaign was completely different to cannon. The North actually remembered. I hope to be able to mention all my changes by the time I finish the story. I have a lot of background from Jon's death onwards to fill out.
> 
> Jon pragmatism has grown since his tenure as Lord Commander. Jon *really* does not want to burn pyke, but will do so if the ironborn start to hinder his campaign against the others. For he considers that to be the priority and won't let the Ironborn doom Westeros. The only reason he won't ever kill Theon is that Jon sees him as a potential means to take control of the Ironborn. However Jon still deeply cares for his family and will cast pragmatism aside when it comes to family.
> 
> edit: changed Yara into Asha. My mistake.


	6. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6:
> 
> Daenerys I
> 
> “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone.” Daenerys to Ser Jorah Mormont, A Storm of Swords, Chapter 8, Daenerys I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> Sorry for the long wait but exams and uni coursework and my job have been keeping me busy for the last month. I know this chapter is quite short, I had originally 3 scenes for this chapter in my outline, however after some reflection those scenes would flow better later in the narrative after the story at Winterfell develops more. I also wanted to post something, as it has been a month since this was last updated. Thus only one scene in this chapter. My last exam is on Friday, so I won't be able to write much until then. However on Sunday I have a five hour train journey, which will give me some time to write. 
> 
> Thanks to Got88 for beta(ing). The next chapter will likely be Catelyn.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. If you have an questions or concerns comment below and I will respond.
> 
> Edit: Have changed Dany to Daenerys in all but one occasion, where Viserys called her name. Thanks to Donmino for pointing out how annoying it is to read.

**“It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone.” Daenerys to Ser Jorah Mormont, A Storm of Swords, Chapter 8, Daenerys I.**

**Daenerys I**

Daenerys awoke with a start. She sat up straight in the soft bed covered in silk sheets that the magister had provided for her in her chamber. It was large enough to fit four or five people of her size. She was initially confused as to why she had awoken. Then she heard it again. A roar. It made the entire Manse shake and reverberate. It was the loudest sound that she had ever heard. It sent a shiver down her spine but at the same time added steel to it as well. Simultaneously, she felt a deep longing towards the sound. Could it be? She dared not to hope. She shot up and rolled out of bed and her feet touched the slightly cold stone surface. She put on the silk shift provided by the Magister and ran out into the courtyard, ignoring all the ‘servants’ who attempted to stop her. They weren’t truly servants but slaves. Pentos officially banned slavery as a condition of peace after they lost a war to Braavos. However, the Magisters of Pentos, just changed the name of their system from slavery to indentured servitude to get around the stipulations of the treaty. Something about the practice of slavery made her stomach sink. Her brother, no her king, saw nothing wrong in it and thus she stayed silent on the matter.

As she approached the courtyard, she saw her brother who was dressed untidily. His collar positioned incorrectly, he was missing his belt and thus his doublet hung loose. His face was gaunt. His silver hair was messy and his lilac eyes were frantic but yet held the glimmer of excitement, despite the tiredness evident from the black bags beneath them. She made sure to avert her eyes from his. He seemed to be almost childlike in his excitement. His movements were fast and jerky and he seemed to bubbling with some uncontained happiness. It almost reminded Daenerys of her brother before he had to sell their Mother’s crown. It was one of the last parts of her that they had had left, aside from the ring that she still bore on her finger. However, they had to sell the crown, lest they starve. She still wishes for the house with the red door in Braavos and the kind eyes of Ser Willem Darry. Her brother used to sit her on his lap and tell her stories of their ancestors with kind eyes. No hostility or impatience, just kindness and love. Now, they were always lustful, harsh or had a calculating gleam to them. Like her brother was analysing her for something, this however was a very recent change. She wished that she could have the brother who would read to her with his kind loving eyes and patience back. The one who didn’t bear the weight of restoring the greatest dynasty the world had ever seen to its former glory on his shoulders.

Viserys, eventually saw her and smiled at her, like he used to. It was shame that this wouldn’t last. Sometimes when they would get comfortable and safe for a little while, Viserys would become kinder, however it wouldn’t be for too long. When the Usurper’s blades started circling them, his kindness started to dissipate, like the fog that rolled into Pentos on some mornings, which would fade away only a few hours after the sun rose. His kindness was fleeting.

“Dany?” He questioned with childlike excitement and some fidgeting. “Did you hear that?”

Daenerys meekly nodded. She then decided to ask the question that was lingering in the back of her mind since she had awoken “Was that a…?”

Viserys interrupted sharply. “A Dragon?” He finished for her. Viserys then smiled again. Daenerys thought privately, that if Viserys was about to execute the Usurper, then this would be the smile that he would wear on his face. “I think it was.” Viserys then laughed. “It has come to serve the rightful King.” He said with uncontained glee. There was a faraway look in his eye. A dream. A wish. Hope.  Daenerys was unsure if that was true but dared not to voice it and kill her brother’s hope. Her hope. They had been on the run since she was born, a dragon would allow them to retake her Brother’s kingdom and restore their family’s rightful place as the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. It would allow them to cast down the Usurper and his dogs and take revenge for what they did to her family.

After some time, the Magister came running out into the courtyard to join her and Viserys. The Magister waved off his guards as he came to a stop. The man was very fat. He was always nice to her, smiled at her and complimented her on her beauty. Daenerys however didn’t fail to notice, that behind his smiles and courtesy, there was a calculating gleam in his eyes, which made her nervous. They had been with the Magister for over half a year and he yet, wanted nothing in return. Why was he sheltering them? That made her worry. She had heard that the Magister was a conniving businessman that sought advantage from everyone and would sell his friends out, if it was to his advantage. What advantage did he seek from her and her brother? What could they do, to give him profit? Her brother would say that the Magister helped them because he would be rewarded when her brother came into his rightful throne. As much as Daenerys hated to admit it, this was unlikely. They had no army or any money to pay for an army to invade Westeros and retake the throne. So why did the Magister help them?

After what felt like an hour, but couldn’t have been that long. A dark, long shadow cast itself over the courtyard and another roar rang out. This time it was even louder. It made her gut cringe and made her feel uncomfortable. Daenerys looked to the sky and she saw it. A dragon. It was a golden cream. It was majestic. Daenerys’s heat started beating quickly. She felt more hope and relief then she has ever felt in her life, in the moment that she saw the dragon. The dragons had returned. There was a way home, there was hope.

Viserys was openly gaping and the Magister looked satisfied with himself. The dragon circled a few times and then slowly started to descend, circling down. The dragon was more agile than a creature of its size had any right to be. It turned quickly and sharply and seemingly with no effort. As it descended and got closer, she noticed that there were people on the back. There were at least ten. Only Targaryens could ride dragons. There used to be forty families that could ride dragons at the height of the Empire of Old Valyria, however after the Doom hers was the only family of Dragonlords left. There were a couple of other noble Valyrian families like the Velaryons and the Celtigars, but they couldn’t ride dragons.  She and Viserys therefore weren’t alone. She had a family. She couldn’t however think of who it could be? Which relations did Viserys not remember?

The dragon finally landed in the courtyard with a crash. Then, she saw a man with dark hair jump off. The rest of the men followed him. The man was regaled in fine armour with a surcoat, which had the sigil of House Targaryen on it. The red three-headed dragon. As the man walked towards her and Viserys, she saw that he had lilac eyes. Like her and Viserys. This must be the Targaryen, Daenerys thought. This person must be family. The man was exceptionally handsome and pretty. It must come from the blood of Old Valyria. Viserys had told her stories of how the dragon blood not only allowed the Targaryens to ride dragons but also graced its descendants with the beauty of Old Valyria.

A man in a steel breastplate with a three-headed dragon carved in the centre and was wearing a white cloak stepped off next. The man must be brother of the Kingsguard, that Viserys told her stories of, because he seemed to be like a hunter, for he was analysing his environment for any dangers and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. He was always behind her mystery kinsman. The Kingsguard’s eyes settled on her for a second and then moved on. The Kingsguard was middle aged and quite pretty. He had brown hair and eyes and his eyes seemed to be alive but serious. Following the Kingsguard off the dragon were a group of about ten guards wearing a sigil of the Seahorse. Daenerys smiled widely. Viserys had told her of House Velaryon, a house of Valyrian descent who had always been loyal to her House. Their presence could only bode well. Viserys used to tell her stories of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake and his expeditions to the east, where he would bring back endless treasures and exotic goods to the realm at large.

The Targaryen appraised them with discerning eyes, however there was a glimmer of something, that Daenerys couldn’t put a name to in his guarded face when he looked at her. Relief, was the closest thing that she could think of. Then he turned to the Magister. “Are you the Magister named Illyrio Mopatis?” Her kin asked in a friendly and warm voice.

The Magister smiled widely, his fat rolling on his cheeks as his smile grew. “I am.” A look of thought crossed the Magister’s face before he smiled again. This one seemed slightly more guarded, like he was trying to work out a route to gain advantage or was changing some kind of plan.

Her fellow Targaryen slowly strolled to the Magister until they stood face to face. He then dipped his head slightly in thought. He then raised his head after a few moments. “I would like to thank you, Magister.” the mystery Targaryen then smiled charmingly and added. “For keeping my kin safe.” The Magister then let out a relieved breath.

 “It was my pleasure.” The Magister said with a nod. The Targaryen nodded slowly in return and then went to embrace the Magister. The Magister paused for a second before returning it. Then without warning and faster than Daenerys had thought possible, her mystery kin drew his dagger with his right hand, twirled the dagger so its point was facing the Magister, and stabbed him in the side of the chest. He then moved as fast as before, took the dagger out and jabbed the Magister in the other side as well. This time the stab was lower. The Magister started bleeding profusely, the blood was pouring out and puddling on the floor. She started to hear men fighting in background, however she was too entranced with her kin stabbing the Magister to pay attention elsewhere.

The Magister fell and was looking at the attacker with confusion. “Why?” he croaked grimacing with pain. Her kin’s eyes filled with anger, they seemed alight. She was familiar with the look, it appeared on her brother when he was angry with her. The Magister had woken the dragon. Though her mystery kin’s anger seemed more dangerous and overpowering than her brother’s ever had.

The Targaryen then shouted. “Why?” His face turned into a severe frown, his eyes were now a blazing inferno and his entire body seethed with anger. He waved his arms in the air for emphasis. He paused seeming to gather himself. “Do you think I do not know what scheme, you and Varys have concocted?” He added shouting. The Magister was paling with shock and the evident blood loss. “Using the death of Princess Elia Martell’s son to place a fake Aegon on the throne of Westeros?” The Magister started trying to crawl away but stopped with a grimace. The pain seemed too much for the Magister to escape. “Do the names Griff and Young Griff, sound familiar?” The man shouted further.

“I did it for Serra.” The Magister mumbled. “All for Serra…” He further mumbled. The Magister was fading away. The mystery Targaryen then walked over to the dying Magister, he bent down so his eyes were at level with the Magister. “I don’t care for your Lyseni whore.” He said coldly. Her kin then cut his throat and stood. Daenerys noted that despite the Magister’s blood spraying everywhere, her kin’s clothes seemed unstained. This man was experienced in the art of killing, she thought to herself.

Daenerys in her fascination at the exchange between her new family member and the Magister, failed to notice that the Velaryon guards and the Kingsguard had managed to kill all the Magister’s guards in the courtyard and had now formed a protective circle around them. There was a mixture of dead Unsullied and sellswords lying on the floor dead. There were a couple of groans of dying men and the courtyard’s floor was awash with blood, there was a heavy silence as the Velaryon men went around giving mercy to the dying.

The Targaryen walked in front of her and Viserys. He handed off his dagger to his Kingsguard. The Kingsguard pulled out a cloth and started wiping the blood off the dagger. “Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys?” Her mystery kin questioned.

“King Viserys.” Viserys corrected.

The man paused and gazed harshly at Viserys’s interruption. The man then after a moment of silence, smiled and changed the subject. “I am Prince Aemon of the House Targaryen.” The man, Aemon then looked at the Magister. “I’m sorry about the mess. The Magister had plans for you two, they weren’t in the interests of House Targaryen.” The Kingsguard handed the dagger back to Aemon. It was spotless. Aemon started twirling his dagger before looking at Viserys. “He brokered the marriage with the Khal, did he not?” Aemon question.

Viserys looked confused. She was also confused, what marriage? “Marrying my sister to the Khal would gain us an army of fifty thousand to reconquer Westeros and restore House Targaryen and me to their rightful places.” Viserys said with a hint of scorn. Viserys was going to marry her to a Dothraki Khal? To a savage? She felt a sick feeling build in her stomach.

Aemon’s face went blank and there was a silence for a couple of moments. “That was part of his plan.” Aemon said pointing to the magisters dead body. “You would either die with the Khal because the Dothraki would break their word and not cross the Narrow Sea or they would cross the Narrow Sea with you and thus make an enemy out of most loyalists. Even the most ardent Targaryen loyalist would not want a Dothraki horde in their lands.” Aemon glanced at her with a look of censure for a moment, she didn’t know why, before turning back to Viserys. “You and the Usurper would weaken each other. Then his fake Aegon, the man’s son with a Lyseni whore.” The man stopped for moment. “We think the whore a descendent of Daemon Blackfyre, cousin of Melys.”  Daenerys knew stories of the Blackfyres from Viserys. They started from a bastard who didn’t know his station and he started a revolt against his brother for the throne. His decedents had plagued House Targaryen for generations. “This Aegon…” The man almost spat with disgust “...would claim to be Elia Matell’s son, would land with the Golden company and sweep up Targaryen Loyalists who dislike the Dothraki horde that you brought. He would then be able to crush either you or Robert or both, because both of your forces would have been severely weakened.” Aemon continued twirling his dagger.

“Who are you?” Viserys questioned with his lips pressed firmly together. “I know of no Aemon Targaryen.”

Aemon raised his eyebrow. “There is Maester Aemon Targaryen, son of King Maekar, serving as Castle Black’s Maester.” Aemon seemed to rebut. She had more kin? Viserys never told about an Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black. “As for me…” Aemon hummed. “You wouldn’t believe me, if I told you.” Aemon then sheathed his dagger and started walking back to his dragon.

“Where are you going?” Viserys asked with his fists clenched.

Aemon turned back to Viserys and narrowed his eyes. Aemon seemed to be in thought for a couple of seconds. He then crossed his arms “Back to Westeros.” Aemon replied with a shrug. “You can come if you want.” Aemon said noncommittally but Daenerys heard an edge of desire for them to come in his voice.

Viserys seemed to be in thought for a couple of seconds. Aemon turned again but as he did Viserys shouted “Wait.” Aemon turned and had a discerning look on his face. “We will join you.” Viserys said. Aemon gave him a single nod.

“Guards gather their belongings, we can’t stay here long, we have work to do.” Aemon said.

Ten minutes later and two bags between them. She and Viserys walked again into the courtyard. The bodies of the dead sellswords had been piled at the sides of the courtyard. They approached the dragon, who seemed to be lazily laying across the courtyard. It gave her an uncaring look when it saw her and Viserys. Viserys and Daenerys stood there for a second. When Aemon saw them, he mounted the dragon. “Are you coming or not?” Aemon shouted at them with a grin. Daenerys walked up to the dragon. She felt the heat radiating off it. It warmed a place in her soul and heart to be close to the dragon. She could see the dragon’s chest expanding, its breathing steady and firm. She walked up its wing and onto its back and sat, just behind Aemon. She could feel the dragon’s muscles rippling under her.

“What’s its name?” Daenerys asked Aemon who was seated in front of her.

“His name is Kiōs.” Aemon said to her. Spring? Daenerys thought, a weird name for a dragon. Seeming to hear her thoughts Aemon said “I named him for what we always hope for in the darkest of nights during winter…” Aemon paused and turned back to her “and winter is coming.” He said with a grin. Less than a minute later, everyone was on the dragon. The dragon stood upright and Daenerys felt the shudder of muscles underneath her as the dragon leaped off the ground and started flapping its wings. Within moments they were off the ground and climbing into the skies. They were circling up and up. Within a minute, she could see the many plazas and buildings of Pentos beneath her. They then abruptly turned and then she saw it. The sea. It seemed to go on forever. However, Daenerys knew that in that moment, she was returning home. Her home was across the sea. She felt a part of her mind settle at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dany said that only Targs could ride dragons. This is not strictly true, you had the Dragonseed riders during the dance and some Velaryons who could ride over the course of the history of Dragons. However the Dragonseeds are most likely Targ bastards and the all the Velaryon riders were closely related to the Targs. Dany just doesn't know enough history or enough dragonlore.
> 
> I'm going with Faegon being Daemon Blackfyres grandson. Daemon was Melys cousin, who he killed to gain control of the Golden Company. It most likely isn't true strictly in canon but I do think Faegon is either a random Lyseni boy or some sort of Blackfyre or maybe some dragonseed. I also think that George won't ever tell us if Faegon is a fake.


	7. Catelyn II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The dragon kings had wed brother to sister, but they were the blood of old Valyria where such practices had been common, and like their dragons the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.” Catelyn’s thoughts, Clash of Kings, Chapter 33, Catelyn IV.
> 
> Catelyn II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I hope you enjoy the chapter. I only got half the chapter done on the train and I didn't get much free time until Wednesday. So here it is.
> 
> The Next chapter will be Jon and it will wrap up the initial Winterfell arc. It might take a while because a lot needs to happen in the chapter.
> 
> Thanks to GOT88 for being my Beta.

**“The dragon kings had wed brother to sister, but they were the blood of old Valyria where such practices had been common, and like their dragons the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.” Catelyn’s thoughts, Clash of Kings, Chapter 33, Catelyn IV.**

**Catelyn II**

The bastard… no the king, had summoned her after breakfast. She felt uncomfortable at the thought of being summoned by someone that she had thought of as her husband’s bastard till yesterday. The King had broken his fast in the chamber that Ned had given him to use as a solar. He had been in deep discussion with his daughter and his Kingsguard for the last few hours. Nobody knew what they were discussing or planning but it seemed to be important because no one had left the solar since they had broken their fast. The servants and smallfolk were surprisingly positive and supportive of the… king. All though, that wasn’t too surprising, the people of the north were loyal to the Starks above anyone else, the possibility of a Stark-blooded king was sure to be an idea that they would support. The fact that Ned also supported him, guaranteed the Targaryens the support and loyalty of the North.

Catelyn had no idea why she had been summoned and not Ned. What could the King want with her? A nervous feeling started building in her stomach. Was he going to exact some kind of revenge for her… harsh treatment of him? Catelyn shook her head, as much as she hated to admit it, the… King was too much like Ned to enact some kind of revenge against her. Or so she hoped. She approached the door. There was a Kingsguard outside. It was the one who looked a bit like a young Robert Baratheon. He gave her a nod upon seeing her and opened the door. “The Lady Catelyn of the House Stark.” He announced to the room. She entered.

There was a fire lit and it filled the entire room with warmth. The King was writing at the desk. She stood there. The King continued writing for a minute or two before he placed his quill down. He rolled the paper up. Placed a dollop of red wax on it. He held up the wax to a candle. After some time, he brought it down and pushed his ring into the wax to seal it. “Lyarra.” He called. The King’s daughter walked in front of the desk. The King handed his daughter three scrolls. One was the one that he had just sealed and the other was sealed with yellow wax. It looked to be sealed with Robert Baratheon’s seal. The last also had red wax but she couldn’t quite see the seal “This letter is for Aemon’s eyes only, it is my instructions for him. Make sure to place it in his hands only.” The King instructed. “Do you understand?” The King questioned.

“I do.” Lyarra said with a nod.

The King nodded back. “Good. The other one is an order from Robert Baratheon to Stannis Baratheon to stand down and yield Dragonstone.” Catelyn wondered about how he had gotten that order. She also wondered if it would work. Stannis Baratheon was known to be unyielding but also for being dutiful. Catelyn was unsure. “Stannis will comply. Keep him on Dragonstone for now.” The King rubbed his chin in thought. “The last contains my instructions for you. It says that after Stannis has yielded, you are to gather as many men from Dragonstone as you can and along with the forces you have, go to Maidenpool. House Mooton was a loyalist House during the Rebellion and will most likely welcome you. Take his men and your army and march towards Rook’s Rest. The Stauntons will most likely join you. Remember to send a rider to Antlers for the Buckwells, they will also be likely to join you. March along the coast to Duskendale. House Rykker will join you as well. They are a new house and owe their position to House Targaryen. Then continue onto Rosby and gather his men along with Stokeworth men who are nearby. Then march to Hayford and do the same. Then you are to march and sit on the Goldroad. Make sure to cause as much ruckus as possible and attract as much attention as you can along the way. Lots of men and houses will join you from the Northern Crownlands. The Usurper hasn’t paid the Lords of the Crownlands much attention and their loyalty to the Dragons runs deep.”

There was a silence for a moment before Lyarra spoke “You’re baiting Tywin Lannister to quickly gather forces and rush down the Goldroad?”

The King smiled warmly at that. “I am.” The King stood and walked over to his daughter and brought her into an embrace. “Stay safe.” The King hummed. “Don’t do anything stupid and listen to your Aunt Sansa.” The King kissed Lyarra’s forehead.

“I love you, Father.” Lyarra mumbled quietly into the King’s chest.

“I love you too. Now go and make sure to pack some food.” The King replied before letting his daughter out of his embrace. Lyarra went to leave however before she could leave the King stopped her. “Lyarra.” The King said attracting Lyarra’s attention. “Tell Gendry to join you and…” The King paused in thought before nodding. “Edric, you also will join her.”   Edric bowed to the King and followed Lyarra as she left the solar.

The King then sat down again and rubbed his face. He then looked straight into her eyes. They seemed to look straight through her. It took every ounce of self-control for her not to react. She narrowly avoided shivering or flinching and then she felt anger burn through her.  Why should she flinch because of a bastard? She suppressed that thought quickly. She also tried her best to keep her anger under control. She did, only barely. “Take a seat, Lady Stark.” The King said in a flat, kingly voice.

It was the first time that she properly noticed the complete shift in his demeanour from what it used to be before. Before the… magic, that occurred yesterday. The boy was prone to long sullen silences and tended to avoid long eye contact with her. But she had always felt that the boy had a lot of pride, simmering anger and resentment hidden underneath. Like he was a simmering pot ready to boil over. Now, however he seemed eerily calm and in control. His eyes were tired and experienced. She didn’t know which version was most preferable as she took a seat. His posture and demeanour screamed his position, title, and experience. It was quite jarring for a person who though looked the exact same… to become so different, so quickly.

The King allowed silence to fill the room. That made her more nervous. She looked down at her lap and then up again and tried to avoid eye contact. “Lady Stark.” The King finally spoke as he rubbed his chin. “I’ve summoned you for a number of reasons. The first is to inform you that it is likely that I will be making Bran, the new Lord of Casterly Rock and the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.” The King informed her. “With Lord Stark’s permission of course.” The King then added as an afterthought. The King then paused. Cat felt some happiness upon hearing this information. Her boy was going to become the Lord Paramount of one of the Seven Kingdoms. She would have children ruling over two of the Seven Kingdoms. She still didn’t know why this would require a private audience. The King continued “It is likely that a condition of accepting this new position will be for Bran to marry Myrcella Baratheon.” The King ran his hand through his dark curls. “However, I’m not one to force a betrothal upon a girl.” The King sighed. “I need someone to speak with her and learn if she would prefer to become Bran’s betrothed or choose to join the Faith as a Silent Sister or Septa. I feel this choice could be better delivered by someone with a feminine touch. Do you understand?”

Catelyn nodded. It made sense. The King was afraid that he might scare the girl and she might think that she had no choice in the matter. “I understand.” She answered. The King caught her eyes and slowly nodded.

“The second and the main reason that I summoned you here for.” The King said with a sigh. There was a short beat of silence. His pause made her nervous. “I’m still undecided on what the future of the Riverlands is going to be.” The King said in a grave voice. Catelyn couldn’t help it, she flinched. Is this how the boy was going to get his revenge? “My main issue is that your brother Ser Edmure was a good lord and vassal to the Iron Throne in my timeline. I got along rather well with him.” He trailed off. Catelyn narrowed her eyes, wondering what the issue was then. The King paused and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “My problem is that I don’t trust the Tyrells, they’re greedy, treacherous turncloaks. I’m going to replace them.” The King then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “However, if I remove the Tyrells, I need excuses to justify not punishing the Houses that actually joined the rebellion while punishing the Tyrells who supported the throne at the time.” The King’s demeanour shifted as he looked down with… shame? “For House Stark that excuse is self-evident.” He said sadly. He paused in thought for a second before continuing. “Lord Robert Baratheon’s head was called for unjustly and Lord Arryn was protecting his wards and getting revenge for his nephew.” The King paused. “Why did House Tully join the rebellion, Lady Stark?” He asked her pointedly.

There was a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew the answer to this question. She wanted to avoid answering it. She finally relented in order to fill the uncomfortable silence that was percolating around the room. “Because of my marriage to your Uncle…” She got some satisfaction from calling Ned the boy’s Uncle. “…and my sister’s to Lord Jon Arryn.” She replied. She didn’t fail to notice the dark look that crossed the King’s face at the mention of her sister. She felt her anxiety start to build. Why did the boy have a grudge against her sister?

“As you say.” The King said. “House Tully rose for advantage. Your father wanted his grandchildren to rule three of the Seven Kingdoms.” The King concluded. The King adjusted his chair and sat forward. “You understand my predicament?” The King asked with a raised eyebrow.

She did. It made her more upset. He was right. If he wanted to remove the Tyrells, then he would need to punish House Tully in some way, otherwise he would look like a tyrant. However, Catelyn did not see the need to punish House Tyrell. If the King didn’t punish House Tyrell then the problem was avoided. She tried to question the wisdom of removing the Tyrells as diplomatically as possible. She asked in calm, cool voice “Why do you want to remove House Tyrell, your grace?” It rankled Catelyn to call him that.

The King looked surprised for a second and narrowed his eyes slightly, before his face went back to neutral. “Mace Tyrell sat outside Storm’s End with an army of fifty thousand men for most of the war. Ignoring his bannermen’s advice to the contrary. Does that sound like the actions of a leal vassal?” The King continued his voice raising. “In my timeline, the Tyrells switched sides as soon as it was to their advantage. They backed Lord Renly, then the Lannisters, then a person masquerading as my late brother…” The King’s voice had a very cold edge to it now. “I do not trust them to run a farm, let alone one of my Kingdoms.” His eyes were now harsh and dark. Then he closed his eyes and took a long breath and seemed to calm down. “They are also the easiest Great House in the realm to replace.” The King scratched his chin and leaned back into his chair. “They aren’t popular with their bannermen. Add the fact, the Tyrells lack any royal lineage of their own and owe their position to my ancestors completely. The circumstances are to my advantage.” He said seemingly mostly to himself.

She gulped and she had to force the words out of her mouth. “You need to punish House Tully but you wish to leave my brother as the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.” She asked tentatively.

The King nodded. “I can’t reduce the Tully’s land and incomes as that will only weaken their authority among their already fractious vassal lords.” The King then shook his head. “Riverlords.” He seemed to say in exasperation. The King sighed and sat forward. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“You could marry my brother to a loyalist lord’s daughter, like the Darrys?” She suggested.

The King’s brow furrowed slightly before he scowled. “The only available maidens who are members of House Darry are descendants of Lord Walder Frey.” The King’s scowl deepened. “Any descendent of Lord Walder is not an option.” The King was silent for a moment and then shook his head. “The only other major loyalist Riverland house was House Mooton and their daughter is too young.” The King rubbed his chin. “Much too young.” He repeated.

The King seemed to have more knowledge of the Riverlords than she did, which surprised her. Catelyn also wondered what the King had against the Freys. Not that she didn’t have sympathy for his obvious dislike of them and more specifically Walder Frey. Catelyn still remembers the only time she visited the Twins. It was when she was bringing Robb to Winterfell. She stayed under Lord Walder’s roof. He leered at her openly, his liege lord’s daughter. He also had more children and grandchildren than Winterfell had guards during peacetime. There was nothing that she liked about the man. He had no redeeming qualities.

“Your grace?” one of the Kingsguards tentatively asked.

The King looked surprised but seemed open to the interruption. “Yes, Larence?” The King asked raising an eyebrow.

The Knight fidgeted a bit. “Make it a condition of fealty that Lord Rickon become Lord of the Riverlands after Lord Edmure’s death.” The Knight turned and smiled at her. “Which hopefully shouldn’t be too soon.” He added. The Knight continued “It is a punishment, how can forcing an heir upon a Great House and preventing any marriage to continue their line not be? It isn’t a harsh one either. Lord Rickon is already Lord Edmure’s heir if Lord Brandon is to become the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.” The Knight then shrugged. “From what I remember of Lord Edmure, he seemed to have wanted to and would have followed in his uncle’s path, if it wasn’t for…” The King turned sharply and gave the Knight a censoring glare. The Knight went wide eyed and dipped his head. “I apologize, your grace.”

The King’s sharp glare didn’t leave the Knight’s face and there was a couple of moments of silence. “You are forgiven.” The King said in low voice but his eyes kept lingering on the Knight. She wondered at the exchange, what was the Knight going to say before the King interrupted him?

The King then sat back and seemed to be in deep thought. After a minute of silence, a satisfied look crossed his face.  “It could work.” The King said as he scratched his chin in thought. “I will have to discuss it with Sansa…” The King trailed off. The King then nodded. “It could work.” He repeated. She didn’t know what to think of this suggestion. On the one hand, another one of her sons would become a powerful lord… but on the other hand… she didn’t want Edmure to be upset at being forced to not have children. Catelyn then internally sighed. If what the Knight said about Edmure was true however… it could work as a solution. It looked publicly like a massive rebuke but kept the Riverlands within the Tully line.  


“Lady Stark?” The King said to get her attention. She met his eyes. He continued. “What do you think of Ser Larence’s suggestion?”

“It could work, especially if what Ser Larence said about my brother’s… disposition to marriage is true.” Catelyn said in the calmest voice that she could muster.

The King gave her a nod. “There was one final thing.” The King said. “I do not need your input…” The King sighed. “I thought you would want to know however.” The King said. A sick feeling started building in her stomach. She could hear and feel her heart beat faster. There is another issue that concerns her? “It is likely…” The King said trailing off. The King then shook his head. “I’m certain that your nephew Robert Arryn is not the son of my namesake, Jon Arryn.” The sick feeling continued to build. She could not believe her own ears. “He is the bastard son of your sister and Petyr Baelish.” Catelyn didn’t know how to react to that revelation. She always knew that her sister was infatuated with Petyr. Petyr wouldn’t though, would he? No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The boy was lying. He was casting aspersions on her family. This was his revenge. ‘Family, Duty, Honour.’ She would defend her sister.

“It is not true.” She asserted as she stood. “My sister wouldn’t shame herself so.” She declared loudly. “Family, Duty, Honour. Those are my House words and my sister’s as well. We believe in them and live by them” She glared at him. “You are either mistaken or lying.” She emphasized the latter. “Petyr is a dear friend. He wouldn’t do that. To either of us.” She concluded. She heard one of the Kingsguard snort at her last statement. She folded her arms in defiance. She didn’t let her gaze drop as she retook her seat. The King didn’t flinch at her glare nor react to her words. He just sat there and didn’t move a muscle. His face was blank and neutral.

“Petyr Baelish is a dear friend…” The King said and trailed off in disbelief. “Petyr Baelish is a dear friend.” The King repeated, this time his voice louder and his disbelief more evident. “Petyr Baelish is a snake.” The King scowled. “If I get my hands on him, I will take his head myself.” The King said with steel in his voice. “The man is the main reason that the realm is near bankrupt.” The King then stood and leaned forward on the table to get as close to her as possible and glared straight through her. In a low but a voice that contained a dangerous edge he said “In my future, he rescued Sansa from King’s Landing in order to sell her to the Boltons, after they betrayed and murdered Robb. She escaped and ran to me at the Wall…” He raised his voice. “I had to clean her wounds. There was no one else to do it.” The King’s eyes were alight, his face was dark, and his voice was cold and dangerous. “Baelish knew that the man she was to marry was a beast….” The King clenched his fist in anger. “He sold her anyway.” The King sat and looked away from her. “He is not your friend, Lady Stark.” He said quietly. “Do what I asked you to do. Go ask Myrcella Baratheon what she wants for her future. You are dismissed.” She retreated from the solar in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catelyn walked in silence to the rooms where the former Princess was kept. She was still digesting what the King said about Petyr. There were two Stark guards outside. They opened the door as she approached. Catelyn walked in. Myrcella was sitting on a stool in front of a mirror brushing her hair. She was a beauty, like her mother. Her face still had a lot of childish fat, but it was clear that once she lost it, the girl would nay grow more beautiful. She was slender but not skinny. She looked like she would have wide hips when she was older, thus she wouldn’t struggle much with birthing. The girl’s hair was a vibrant golden and her eyes were a beautiful green. She was a beautiful child and would grow to be a beautiful woman. Though she saw no trace of the former King in her. Myrcella seemed to notice her and turned around.

“Lady Stark?” She questioned quietly. She put on the warmest smile that she could. She felt apprehensive for the girl. She was going to choose her own fate. It was a heavy burden for such a young child. Yet, the King was right in this, it was better for her to be burdened with the choice then not. A small niggling feeling of admiration spread through her. Catelyn didn’t know whether to try to bury the feeling or allow it to spread and grow. Catelyn sat on the bed. The girl turned her chair to face her. She didn’t know where start with the events that had occurred since yesterday. So, she started by giving the girl another warm smile. The girl was after all innocent in all of this. A victim of her name and her birth.

“What do you know of the events since you arrived in Winterfell?” Catelyn asked warmly and with concern edged in her voice.

The girl seemed in thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t know much.” She mumbled. “Except that… except that the Targaryens are back.” She said weakly while fidgeting and looking at her lap.

Catelyn nodded. “The Targaryen is my Lord Husband’s Nephew and thus House Stark has chosen to support House Targaryen.” She paused. “The new King…” She sighed. “Has asked me to make known to you the choices which he is offering to you.” She said gently.

“Choices?” The girl questioned with confusion evident on her face.

Catelyn nodded and again smiled warmly. “The King wishes to betroth you to my son, Bran…” Catelyn paused. The girl kept a straight face, which surprised her for someone so young. “… but he doesn’t wish to force you into a marriage. Thus, you if you want you can join the Faith as either a Septa or a Silent Sister.” She finished.

The girl seemed to be in thought for a couple of seconds. The girl’s eyes surveyed the room around her and then returned to her lap. The girl then went to speak but stopped. “Tell the King…” The girl stopped and took a deep breath for courage before looking her straight in the eye and with all the composure and elegance of a Princess said, “Tell the King that I would prefer to marry your son.” The girl said with no weakness or apprehension. Catelyn looked her future good-daughter in the eye for a couple of seconds before nodding slowly.

Catelyn went to get up and leave. The girl called out to her before she could leave however. “Lady Stark?” The girl questioned. Catelyn turned and looked at the girl again. The girl was silent for a few seconds before asking “Do you know what will happen to my brother, Tommen?”

Catelyn didn’t. She smiled “No, I don’t. I will however, tell you when I can.” She said. The girl nodded before walking over to the stool, where she continued to brush her hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She went back to the King’s solar, and as she approached she heard Ned and Robb’s voices talking with the King in serious tones. The Kingsguard outside the door just nodded and opened the door when he saw her. One of the Kingsguard was also at the table. The one with the iron hand.

They were all crowded around a map of Westeros. The King was pointing at the map and seemed to be outlining an area. Robb seemed to be in deep thought and Ned was frowning ever so slightly. The Kingsguard was following the King’s words with rapt attention. They were too deep in conversation to notice her.

“You can’t trust Lord Bolton. He is a snake and would look for any opportunity to end House Stark’s rule of the North and to replace it with his own. He is also vulnerable and without a legitimate heir. His bastard son, Ramsay is a beast and unpopular even among the most loyal of the Houses sworn to the Boltons.” The King said.

Ned interrupted. “I agree with you that we can’t trust Bolton.” Ned then seemed to pause in thought. “I can’t however, attain one of my most important bannermen for crimes they haven’t yet committed.”

The King then smiled. It was a vicious feral smile. It looked unusual on a boy so young. “True.” The King said. “Bolton has already committed other crimes however.” The King then raised his eyes so that they met Ned’s. “His bastard was born from a violation of my ancestor’s law that banned the practise of the first night. I’m sure that this isn’t the only violation of said law. He also allows Ramsay to hunt the smallfolk on his lands with dogs. I’m sure if we asked any of the smallfolk from the villages surrounding the Dreadfort, we will find enough people to condemn Lord Bolton and his Bastard to an early grave.” The King then smiled again. “An unprestigious end for the line of the Red Kings. They will never trouble House Stark again.” There was now a satisfied look on the King’s face.

Ned nodded. However, a look of thought crossed Robb’s face. “What we will do with the Bolton lands after we attain them?” Robb asked.

Ned turned to the King. “Any suggestions?” Ned asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Split the lands into two or three new mastery level Houses. Award the lands to the second sons of loyal northern Houses.” The King then shrugged. “If there are any left after I rid the south of disloyal Houses.” The King said with a smile. The King then noticed her. “Lady Stark.” He said with a nod. His eyes still seemed to bore through her.

“Your Grace.” Catelyn said with a curtsey. She was surprised at her ease and comfort in doing so. “The Lady Myrcella would prefer the betrothal.” She said.

The King smiled. “Good. With your permission Lord Stark, I wish to grant you son Brandon Stark, the Lordship of Casterly Rock and the West and all the associated lands and titles, on a condition of a betrothal to the Lady Myrcella.” The Kingsguard seemed to smile slightly at the words.

Ned was in thought for a couple of seconds before nodding. “I agree and accept both on his behalf.” A look of concern crossed Ned’s face. “Who will keep the Lords of the West in line until Bran comes of age?”

“I was thinking of making the Blackfish, the regent for Bran until he comes of age.” The King then grinned. “If anyone can keep the Lords of the West in line, it’s the Blackfish.” The King then looked to Catelyn with a raised eyebrow. “Unless there are any objections.” The King then turned the Kingsguard. “Jaime?” He asked.

“No, the Blackfish will keep the Lords in line.” Jaime then huffed. “I’m sure our Blackfish would be laughing at the irony.” Jaime said to the King.

The King grinned widely. It then clicked into place for Catelyn. The King was consulting with a Kingsguard from the West named Jaime. Now, she knew why he looked so familiar. It was Jaime Lannister. “Jaime Lannister?” She questioned.

Lannister bowed with a flourish. “At you service, my Lady.” He said with a hint of mockery in his tone.

“But.” Catelyn said before stopping. She turned to the King. She probably had a look of incredulity as she said “How can you trust him?” Her voice full of disbelief. “He broke his vows and stabbed your Grandfather in the back.” She looked to Ned for his support, but he looked away.

The King raised an eyebrow at Catelyn. “And I would have helped him.” The King said, there was a steel edge to the King’s voice. A certainty. Ned and Robb flinched. “Kinslaying may lead to me being accursed by the gods but I would bring that dishonour on myself to prevent my Grandfather from burning down King’s Landing with Wildfire.” The King said without a single emotion appearing on his face.

“Wildfire?” Catelyn said in shock. In her mind’s eye, she could picture King’s Landing becoming a smouldering ruin. A half a million people could have been dead due to one person’s madness.

“He was mad.” The King said in agreement with her thoughts and with a hint of disgust in his voice. There was a silence for a long while before the King spoke “The Reach.” The King said. “Any suggestions?” The King asked with interest. “Sansa has broken me of the habit of making decisions without consulting anyone.” There was a hint of fondness in his voice. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or not.

“The Hightowers?” Lannister suggested. “They have the prestige and the strength to hold it.”

The King shook his head. “House Hightower isn’t centrally located enough and their interference in the succession to the throne led to the Dance.” Catelyn grimaced. The King was right. House Targaryen and House Hightower did have a… complicated history.

“The Florents?” Catelyn suggested. Catelyn knew that after the field of fire and the death of House Gardener, House Florent was the House with the strongest claim to the Kingdom of the Reach. They were however passed over by the Conqueror for House Tyrell, who were the mere stewards of Highgarden. The Tyrells didn’t have much control over their bannermen since they were raised. Most of the Houses of the Reach chafed under the rule of the mere stewards of Highgarden. Catelyn couldn’t help but understand why. That was the point though, Catelyn thought. The Conqueror placed the most populous Kingdom and the one that could raise the most men under a House they could never unite under. So, they couldn’t unite against House Targaryen, Catelyn concluded as an afterthought.  

The Lannister shook his head. “The happy marriage of Selyse Florent and Stannis Baratheon means there are too many ties to the Baratheons.” There was a hint of mockery in his voice. She saw the ghost of a smile on the King’s face. “The Florents wasted no time after the rebellion before they started gracing the royal court with their presence in hope of getting the Reach or Highgarden.” There was an element of disgust in his voice. “They are as untrustworthy as the Tyrells.” Lannister concluded with a raised eyebrow at her.

The King looked to Lannister before he nodded in agreement. The King then surveyed all of them before focusing back on her “It’s likely that Shireen Baratheon will be the Lady of the Stormlands. The Florents would have too much influence.” The King said.

“The Tarlys?” Robb suggested. Not a bad idea, Catelyn thought. They were loyalists during the Rebellion and are one of the most powerful and prestigious Houses in the Reach. Robb was probably recalling his lessons on Robert’s Rebellion. Specifically, on the one major defeat delivered to Robert during the Rebellion at Ashford by Randyll Tarly. Ned told her that Robert barely held his army together after that defeat, she thought idly.

The King dismissed the suggestion “Lord Tarly is too much of a soldier and not enough of a ruler. The Reach requires a ruler for its…” The King paused before there was a slight twinkle in his eye. “Transition in leadership.” The King finished.

“The Rowans.” Ned suddenly suggested. “Mathis Rowan is a devoted Targaryen loyalist and a competent ruler.” Ned argued. “And a good man.” Ned added more quietly.

The King looked at Ned surprised before nodding. Catelyn couldn’t help but also be surprised. Ned was never much interested in southern politics. “I agree.” The King hummed. “It was also what I was thinking.” The King said trailing off. It seemed to be settled then, Catelyn thought.

“That’s enough for now.” The King said. “I promised I’d spar with Maekar today.” With that the King stood and left. Lannister following him quickly after. Leaving the Stark family to their thoughts.

“He has changed.” Robb said sadly. Then there was a fierce and determined look in his eye. “He is still Jon though.” Robb said with certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta pointed out two things that might need clarifying.
> 
> I. Jon wasn't going anywhere on the dragon but just going on a nighttime dragon ride.  
> II. The repeat of the Rowan reach decision is to show Jon's change in leadership style since ADWD. He now consults lots of people before making decisions. It was kind of drilled into to him by Sansa over the course of his reign.
> 
> If anything needs to be clarified comment and let me know. I will do utmost to provide some clarity.


	8. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Knowledge is a weapon, Jon. Arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle.” Aemon to Jon Snow, A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 7, Jon II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I know it has been ages (2 1/2 months) since the last update. I have run into the brick wall that can be real life and had all my free time drained towards family and work. I'm going back to university soon, so that may disrupt any attempt at writing in early September. But expect a chapter by the 10th at the latest.
> 
> The next chapter will be Sansa I. Just to clarify it is the older Sansa and thus we will get an update on what is going on in the south.
> 
> Note: this is also the longest chapter I have written at 7798 words (MS Word count) in comparison to Jon I which was the longest at 7007 . Also thanks to thanks for 648 kudos and over 25000 hits, 210 bookmarks and 543 subscriptions. I never thoughts that anything I would ever write would get that much attention.
> 
> Also thanks to GOT88 for beta(ing)
> 
> Thanks for reading, I give you Jon II.

**“Knowledge is a weapon, Jon. Arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle.” Aemon to Jon Snow, A Dance with Dragons, Chapter 7, Jon II.**

**Jon II**

He moved into stance against his son allowing his instincts to take over as went back and forth with Maekar during their spar. Jon smiled to himself with pride. Maekar’s form was tight and his attacks were not only quick but powerful as well. Maekar is a good swordsman now, despite his age. Maekar had the potential to be a better swordsman than even him. Maekar was already far better than he was at Maekar’s age.

“I can’t convince you not to, can I?” Jon called out when a lull appeared in the spar.

Maekar frowned slightly and stopped his circling. Maekar wiped his forehead of sweat. “Not to, what?” Maekar asked with a frown of confusion on his face.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I can’t convince you out of your desire to join the Kingsguard?” Jon asked.

Maekar started to fidget and swung his practise sword over his shoulder. His son didn’t move for a couple of seconds, the boy was clearly in deep thought. Maekar shook his head in response. Jon nodded. He had expected this. Maekar was always a boy of duty but not of duty to abstract concepts like the realm or to his dynasty or the common good. He was a boy of duty to individuals. It took a while for Jon to understand this.

It wasn’t until a year before his death that Jon properly understood it. Jon had suffered a fever that looked like it could be fatal. Maekar visited him in his room and sat beside his bed. He sat there for hours throughout the night. Jon was comforted by his son’s constant presence. At the Hour of the Wolf, Jon had asked Maekar to serve the realm and his family. Jon always thought Maekar to be a boy of duty. Maekar however just gave him assurances without any strong conviction showing in his face or voice. Jon tried to repeat it again but, in his fever, he had rephrased it and grabbed Maekar by the collar of his doublet and asked Maekar to always support and help Daeron. This time however, Maekar had repeated his assurances but this time a steely conviction showed in his voice along with a fire in his eyes.

Jon’s health had taken a better turn the following day and he had made a fully recovery after a couple of days. However, shortly after Jon had the realisation that Maekar always responded with conviction when asked to protect individuals that he knew and loved but lacked any enthusiasm towards the greater good or other abstract concepts. In the following weeks, Maekar started asking questions about the Kingsguard. Thus, Maekar’s desire to join the Kingsguard was not something unexpected. It is what he wants, and he would be good at it. Jon thought it would be more convenient if Maekar didn’t want to become Kingsguard and become the Lord of the West. Jon however couldn’t deny his son his desire and Maekar desired with conviction to serve as a Kingsguard. Jon wouldn’t and couldn’t deny his son that.

“Jaime!” Jon called to the side of the courtyard where Jaime was watching with a keen eye for any danger. Jaime jogged over to the centre of courtyard.

“Your grace?” Jaime asked with a raised eyebrow and slight arrogant smile on his face. A Lannister smile, Jon thought.

“Maekar wishes to become a Kingsguard.” Jon said patting Maekar on the shoulder. “Will you take him as your squire?” Jon asked.

Jaime looked in thought for a couple of seconds before nodding. “I don’t see why not.” Jaime answered. Jaime turned to Maekar. “Don’t expect special treatment.” Jaime said with a gleam in his eye.

Jon smiled. “He wouldn’t expect it.” Jon said squeezing Maekar’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right Maekar?” Jon said with a pointed stare.

“Yes, Father.” Maekar said with a rare tinge of excitement and an even rarer hint of nervousness.

“Robb!” He called out to his cousin. Brother, a voice echoed around his head. He picked up his tourney sword and started to inspect it. He turned and smiled at Robb as he walked over. “Do you want to spar?”

Robb smiled and and grabbed another tourney sword. Jon swung the blade a few times to open the spar. Robb did quite well in dodging them all, but Jon made sure never to fully commit to them. He was testing Robb. Trying to remember how Robb sparred, what his strengths and weaknesses are. Jon pulled back and allowed Robb to go on the offensive for a couple of seconds. Robb’s form was pretty good, but he tended to put much force into his attacks, which left his centre and his left exposed to any counter-offensive. Jon pulled back suddenly, Robb remained where he was and didn’t press his attack. Good. That trick should only work on amateurs.

Jon went on the offensive with three swings, one swept suddenly from the right to Robb’s left and he was met with a clang of tourney swords hitting. Then Jon swung the sword under Robb’s sword and to Robb’s right and was met with another parry. Jon moved with his sword acting almost like a staff and placed his foot behind Robb’s and attempted to push Robb over using his sword. Robb stumbled but recovered and moved back quickly. Robb was still vulnerable, and within half a second Jon was on him. A swipe to Robb’s left, then to his right. A downward hack. Robb parried them all but was quickly losing balance. Robb went to go on the offensive and regain the initiative with an open swing of his sword and attempted a strike which would decapitate him, if it were a real sword. Robb however had put too much of his weight and force into the swing. He had over committed. Jon knew that the time to strike for victory was now. Jon dodged the strike with a quick crouch and moved quickly and tackled Robb. During the movement of the tackle, Jon had unsheathed his dagger. After a second Robb must have known that it was over. Jon had him on his back and a dagger at his throat. “I yield.” Robb said, breathing quickly.

Jon stood and took deep breaths. Seven hells! How he had missed this, he thought. Jon held out a hand and helped Robb to his feet.  It was then that something in his peripheral version percolated his mind. He turned and scanned the courtyard… Lord Stark was standing at the entrance to the courtyard with his arms crossed. It was a familiar stance from his childhood. Lord Stark wished to talk to him. It was understandable. They had discussed what was happening. However, they hadn’t actually talked about where they stood. Jon, if he was honest with himself, didn’t know himself what he thought of Lord Stark. He felt a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Everything from betrayal, anger and disappointment to relief, happiness, and love.

 How can one man create so many conflicting emotions? Anger and betrayal for the lies from an Uncle to his Nephew. Lord Stark had allowed him to believe that he was blemish on a great man’s honour. That he was a mistake. That his mother was a whore who didn’t care about him, when her dying words were about him. Jon’s mother’s final words were a plea for his safety. He allowed his nephew to be shunned by the Lady and people of Winterfell and left him with nowhere to go but the Night’s Watch, a band of thieves and murderers.  He felt anger at himself for being so young and naïve and wanting to join the Night’s Watch. His anger at himself increased for feeling forced to go. A stray thought entered his head, it’s not like he had another option, he would have been forced out into the cold, bare streets of Wintertown by Lady Stark as soon as Lord Stark headed South to become the Usurper’s Hand of the King.

Jon feels disappointment on finding out about the lies from the man’s best friend and having his hero, mentor, role model and Father shredded within a single conversation.  Relief also reaches the forefront of his mind, for seeing his Father alive again, he couldn’t bear to think of the man as anything else for long. Happiness and love also bare down on him, because he is seeing the only man in the world who had cared for and loved him as a son.

“Jaime stay here, I need to speak to Lord Stark in private.” Jon said with a decision made, he can no longer avoid this. “Robb should give you challenge, Maekar.” Both Robb and Maekar smiled. He walked towards Lord Stark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon sat with his back against the heart tree and basked in the sanctuary of the Old Gods. The comforting sense that the Old Gods are watching washed over him. It was one of the only places in the world where he could find inner calm and peace. It was one of the only places where he could be just Jon. He wasn’t a King or a Father, he didn’t have the weight of expectation upon him. Expectation to act and be a Targaryen King, who lives for his duty to the realm and nothing else. Here, he can be Jon and not Jaehaerys. He can be the Bastard of Winterfell with no expectation or burdens. Just content in the solitude of his thoughts.

Jon finds it an almost comforting irony that when he thought himself a bastard, he wished to be anything else, but when he found himself the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna and the heir of the Targaryen dynasty and of Old Valyria, he wished to be just the Bastard of Winterfell. He thought back to a piece of advice that Maester Luwin had given him when he was younger. That we only see the benefits of position and power from the outside, not its drawbacks. He wished that he had taken that piece of wisdom to heart earlier in his life. Jon smiled to himself. Gods, he was glad Maester Luwin was alive. He was glad that every single guard, servant, and the rest of the people of Winterfell, were all alive and well and not a distant, blurry memory.

“This is the only place where I can find peace.” Jon said aloud.

His Father gave him a small smile. “Me too.” He murmured quietly. Jon had seen his Father polish Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark many a time under the watchful eye of the heart tree of the godswood in Winterfell. Jon always wondered at the thoughts of his Father when he sat below the tree in silence, slowly polishing the blade of Ice till it was immaculately clean. 

“I…” Jon said trying to find the right words. He was never normally this inarticulate. Sansa had made sure of that.

“You have questions?” Father asked.

Jon huffed and nodded. “Aye, I do.”

“Ask and I will answer.”  Father paused. “I also have questions, but you go first.” Father said more quietly.

Jon nodded and sat back and slowly placed his head on the weirwood and looked at the clear sky above. It seemed all encompassing and endless, like snow in winter. It would never not be comforting to see blue instead of black. For he spent so long during the dark days of the long night in an endless dark. The blue sky seemed to be almost an embodiment of hope.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon forced out. His own voice sounded pathetic and weak. Vulnerable. Jon thought. When was the last time he had felt this vulnerable? Dany’s death, he thought. The blackness of gloom and sorrow started to creep over him. He mentally beat it back. He couldn’t let the apathy of sadness overtake him. He has a duty to attend. Jaehaerys has a duty to attend. The rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms has a duty to attend.

“I…” Father began. Father stopped and placed his head in his hands. He gulped. Ned Stark gulped. Jon couldn’t think of another time when he had seen his Father so nervous. “I just couldn’t. First it was because you were too young and then…” Father seemed to collect himself and looked him directly in the eye. Grey Stark eyes meeting grey Stark eyes. “I couldn’t bear to see the look of betrayal on your face when I told you.” Father seemed to pause in thought. “I was a craven, Jon. A craven. I couldn’t bear to have you think of me as anything else other than your Father.”

There was a slight lull and Jon’s eyes swept the ever familiar godswood of Winterfell. Home, he thought, the thought echoed around his head several times. The grass was a vibrant green with a smattering of flowers, the ancient assortment of trees stood towering. Jon swept his eyes back to his Fathers face, he looked…Jon didn’t have a word to describe the highly emotional state that his Father was in. Sad, sorrowful, regretful. None of them fit. “I protected my Nephew for my Sister but… I grew to love him as a son. I was afraid…” Father’s voice cracked with emotion. “I was afraid that if I told you…” Father took a deep breath. “That I would lose a son.” Father shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

Jon nodded. “I understand.” Jon sighed. “I can’t help but think of you as Father for that it was you are and always will be to me. You raised me…” Jon gave his Father a small smile. “I can’t help but think of you as Father.” He repeated. His Father sighed with relief. Jon paused for a minute and just stared at the godswood and embraced its eeriness. “You said you had questions?” Jon asked.

“A couple.” His father let a small chuckle. His Father turned to him and with a note of confusion in his voice asked “Why give Brandon the Westerlands? You have a spare son of your own, Maekar, who could hold the Westerlands in your name.”

Jon sighed. “Maekar has had a desire to join the Kingsguard for a while now.” Jon smiled. “He thought that I didn’t know about it until this morning.” Jon rolled his eyes. “He wasn’t subtle about his interest in the Order, so how he thought that I wouldn’t know…” Jon shook his head as he trailed off. “I have no idea.”

“Children always think they can hide things from their parents.” His Father said with a knowing look.

Jon chuckled loudly. He tried and failed to cover it with a cough. “The snow incident?” Jon asked with a hint of mirth. Remembering himself and Robb dropping snow on the head of Fat Tom and other members of the Stark Household.

His Father gave him a knowing look. “Incidents.” His Father corrected. Jon tried to keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before he guffawed loudly. His Father joined him with a chuckle.

“The Tyrells?” His Father asked with a serious face.

“What about them?” Jon countered. Why was everyone surprised that he wished to cut them down to size?

“I assume you have a reason for wanting to replace them?” Ned asked. Jon fought the urge to be sarcastic.

“I do. If it can be done quickly, I will replace them with another house. My main priority is securing the realm, for winter is coming.” Jon said the last part with all the conviction that he could muster. His Father seemed to sense the seriousness in his voice and sat forward slightly straighter. “There are two main reasons as to why I don’t trust the Tyrells to hold the Reach for me. The first is their actions in the future and the second is their past actions.” Jon sighed. “Mace Tyrell is a disloyal vassal. Maybe not openly but he is.” Jon shook his head. “Against the advice of his own bannermen, he sat outside Storm’s End with the entire host of the Reach, with near sixty thousand men during the rebellion. He barely needed a quarter of that number to maintain the siege.” Jon sat forward. “If a quarter of his force had marched to join my sire’s forces at King’s Landing, the battle of the Trident would have gone very differently.” His thoughts then started racing at other implications. My brother and sister would have been alive. My father might have been alive. I would have grown up as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and would have gone on to be Hand of the King or joined the Kingsguard. I would have never had the burden of the Seven Kingdoms on me.

“It would have.” His father agreed seriously.

Jon nodded. “If this was a one time occurrence, I would have let it go as the actions of a vain man who was seeking glory.” Jon narrowed his eyes. “In the future, this was proven false.” Jon took a deep breath to calm himself. “The Tyrells changed their Kings faster then they changed their bedsheets. First Renly, then Joffrey, then Tommen, then the mummer pretending to be my brother. This over the course of only three years.” Jon shook his head. “How can I trust a house whose loyalty changes as fast as the winds?” Jon sighed. “I wish to remove them, but if it becomes inconvenient and I think I can’t remove them without a fight. Then I will have to leave them be and hope that the threat of dragons can curb their natural tendency to scheme.” The realm comes before your security and your house’s security as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, Jon thought to himself. The Lannisters can never be trusted but I might be able to coerce the Tyrells into loyalty.

Jon felt that the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. “I’m going to the crypts, Father.” His Father gave him a solemn nod as he rose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jaime, wait outside.” Jon said. He wanted to visit his mother alone.

Jaime gave him a nod. Jon grabbed the torch that was burning and slowly meandered his way down into the crypts. He passed many of his ancestors, those with great feats of glory and courage as well as the cravenly and weak. Ever since the Starks rebelled against the Barrow Kings for their unjust rule, House Stark had been the ruling House of the North. House Stark grew in influence like a weirwood tree, slowly but strongly. Whenever House Stark subjugated a region or area of the North, that area would never leave House Stark’s control again.

Jon reached his mother’s statue and placed the torch in the sconce on the wall next to the statue. He then sat down opposite the statue. He brought his feet up to his chest and then wrapped his arms around them.

“Mother.” Jon said and then paused for a couple of seconds. “To you this is the first time I’ve talked to you. I’m sorry about that, I didn’t know.” He said sadly. “To me it has been…” Jon trailed off in thought. “Two years…” Jon trailed off again. “Two years since I talked to you.” Jon brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest. “I’m sorry that I waited so long.” He added, and he could hear dejection and a bit of shame in his voice.

Jon sighed and let his head fall. “I wish that you were here.” Jon paused. “I wish that you hadn’t died in that dry, dirty tower in the middle of Dorne. I wish that you were here with me. I wish that I could hug you.” Jon tightened his arms.  “I wish that you could meet your grandchildren and be there for them when Dany could not. Why do the gods curse me with outliving my loved ones? Why couldn’t it be me for once? They keep bringing me back, why not you or why didn’t they bring back Dany when she died.”

Jon sat there in contemplative silence for what could have been hours until he heard the distinctive sound of someone coming down the stairs. “Jon?” A questioning voice called out from the ether.

Jon turned around to see his uncle Benjen making his way towards him. The torch lit up the corridor and illuminated the stone faces of his dead ancestors. “Uncle.” Jon said back. His uncle made his way towards him and slid down the wall and joined him in his contemplative silence.

“Did you know?” Jon asked blankly.

His Uncle looked at him in a way that he couldn’t describe. Benjen lowered his head. “Ned never told me.” Benjen shook his head. “But I knew.” Benjen huffed. “Ned having a bastard was never the most believable tale.”

“Has Father told you everything?” Jon asked.

Benjen gave one solemn nod in confirmation. “It explains why all those experienced rangers have been disappearing around the Frostfangs.” Benjen said with a chill to a voice.

“The Rangers stood no chance.” Jon said. “The Others are worse than any nightmare.” Jon sighed. “I’m going to the Wall tomorrow to see my other Uncle in the Night’s Watch and to impose upon Lord Commander Mormont, the importance of forging peace with the Wildings.”

“That won’t be popular.” Benjen said with grimace. Jon instinctively rubbed his chest.

“It won’t.” Jon confirmed dryly. “It is a necessity though. We don’t want to give our enemy more…” Jon shook his head, men wasn’t the right word to describe the hideous thralls of the Others. “We don’t want to increase the size of our enemy’s army.” Jon sighed. “We need to bring the Wildings south of the Wall.”

Benjen raised an eyebrow. “How do you know the Wildings will be agreeable?”

“Mance was here at Winterfell.” Jon said nonchalantly. “We’ve agreed on reasonable terms.”

Benjen stood sharply. “Mance was here?” Benjen looked from side to side. “Where is he now?”

“Halfway to the Wall by now.” Jon said. Jon placed a hand on Benjen’s shoulder.  “We need to turn enemies into friends to win this war.”

“I know Jon…” Benjen shrugged. “It’s just…” Benjen trailed off.

Jon tightened his grip “I understand. It’s hard to make friends with someone who has been your enemy for so long. You’ve lost friends to them and they have lost friends to the Watch.” Jon paused allowing time for his words to take effect. “We must rise above our petty grievances for the good of the realm.” Jon tightened his squeeze more. “For Winter is coming.” Jon said with as much coldness as he could muster.

Benjen gave him a nod. Jon released his grip. “Winter is coming.” Benjen said stoically but with a burst of fight in his voice added “But we will be ready for it when it does. “

Jon smiled. “Aye, we will.” We will, Jon reaffirmed in his thoughts. We have no choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jon nodded to the guards outside the door. They opened the door and allowed him entrance. Jaime walked in after him. Robert was sitting by the fire, sipping on a mug of ale. He walked to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He immersed his nose in the goblet and took in the deep aroma of a wine from the Arbour. He took a small sip from it and allowed the taste to percolate around his mouth. It was good. Of course, it was, it was from the Arbour. The best wines made in Westeros were from the Arbour. During the early days of his reign, he only drank ale but over the course of time, he acquired a taste for wine. It was one of the many ways in which becoming King had changed him. One of the many ways that Jon had become more like Jaehaerys.

Jon picked up a chair and walked over to sit on the opposite side of the fire. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Jon wondered about what kind of man was Robert Baratheon. When he was first imprisoned he acted like an uncontrollable stallion that looked like it needed to be put down with a sharp blade, but now… if Jon was honest, the man looked broken. He was like a candle that had gotten blown out by the wind. The man was quick to rage but his rage also dissipated quickly. The man looked like all the light and joy from the world was torn away from him. Jon almost felt pity.

“You’ve made your choice?” Jon asked. Jon wondered about what choice the man would make in the end. Whether he would pick the Wall or the block. Jon didn’t care either way, Jon either takes the head of the man who killed his father and let Tywin Lannister murder his siblings with no recourse or justice. Jon’s fist tightened. Or the Demon of the Trident. A warrior of Robert Baratheon’s status and ferocity would be available for the Watch. It wouldn’t take long for the man to regain his past warrior prowess. There was no largess or great feasts at the Wall… or good ale. Jon had always wondered about that. How can an institution that has been around for so long, not have good ale? It was practically pisswater.

Robert’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “My blood will hold the Stormlands?” Robert questioned with a combination of frustration and resignation in both his face and voice. Jon saw no harm in allowing Baratheon blood to retain the Stormlands. It was his preference actually. There was no other house of the Stormlands that could hold them. Sure, there were other Houses of stature in the Stormlands but none of them possessed the prominence, prestige or power to hold the Stormlands. There was never any equivalent to the Reynes, the Yronwoods or the Boltons in the Stormlands. Probably the reason as to why none joined Daemon in his rebellion, the idle thought entered his brain. Daemon gained the support of powerful secondary Houses all over the realm. The Stormlords had none and the prickly and strongly anti-Dornish marshal Marcher lords near the Reach who could have risen for Daemon had been appeased by Daeron through his marriages between them and his sons, Maekar and Aerys.

“Your niece, Shireen.” Jon clarified. It would placate the Florents when he didn’t give them the Reach and Shireen would not cause problems for them. She would never have the prestige or the charisma to lead a rebellion. When House Baratheon does eventually have a strong lord, enough time would have passed for tempers to have cooled and resentments be forgotten. The Stormlords only held onto their grudge against the Dornish for any amount of time.

“My children?” Robert questioned weakly. “My eldest is a brat but the younger two are innocent, good children.” Jon could think of far harsher term to describe Joffrey other than brat. However, Jon suddenly processed what Robert had just implicitly asked.

Drogon roared outside. Robert flinched. Jon turned to Robert and couldn’t help but glare. He could feel his eyes alight. He could almost feel them burning with anger. He felt the fire of anger overtaking his body. “So were my sister and brother.” Jon said darkly. He let his implicit threat dangle and disseminate around the room. Control, Jon thought. He had trouble controlling his anger ever since the stabbing at the Wall and subsequent resurrection. “I’m no child killer.” Jon said after a few moments of silence and putting on his King’s face. There was no honour, justice or sense in killing the children. It would only make him look a monster. He needed to be better than Robert.  

“Tommen will be held hostage until he is old enough to decide whether he wants to join the Watch or become a Maester. Myrcella will marry Bran and they will hold the West for me. Joffrey will join the Watch.” Jon said. Jon thought that was fair. Jon wouldn’t send Tommen to the wall immediately, he was too young and if he was intellectually inclined, he would send him to the Maesters. Joffrey would join immediately and Myrcella had chosen her marriage to Bran over the Sisters. It was the fairest that he could be. He had to ensure that the realm wasn’t torn apart in the future by any ‘sons’, ‘grandsons’ or ‘great-grandsons’ of Robert Baratheon. Not that there would ever be any noble trueborn sons or grandsons or great-grandsons of Robert Baratheon, Jon thought with a hint of dark mirth. 

“I will go to the Wall.” Robert said after a minute of silence. “If you swear to not harm the two youngest and give my niece the Stormlands.” He added. It was quire audacious to ask him to swear an oath. To demand an oath of a King. Not that there is any harm in acceding to the demand. The Wall would need a warrior of Robert’s ability when the Great War came. Jon, therefore was inclined to give the oath.

Jon gazed at Robert for a moment. Trying to covey his displeasure at the demand of an oath. “You do not make demands of me.” Jon paused and sighed. “I see no harm in this request though.” He then nodded. “I swear that no harm shall come to Tommen and Myrcella and Shireen Baratheon and her line will rule the Stormlands.” Jon paused. He could have gotten out of this by swearing no harm would come to Robert’s children but that would have been dishonourable without purpose. “I so swear on the Old Gods and the New. May they strike me down if my vow proves false.” Jon then paused. “Satisfied?” He asked. Robert seemed unsure for a couple of seconds before nodding.

Jon nodded back. He then stood, drank deeply from the wine glass, finishing it. He then wiped his mouth and left the room. Jaime as always followed.  That conversation was interesting. He would have to tell Lord Stark of the decision and to inform him of the need for an escort for the remaining Redcloaks, Baratheon men, the Kingsguard, including Jaime, Tyrion, Robert and Joffrey when they depart for the Wall to swear their vows. There was also a need for an escort for Cersei Lannister to go to White Harbour to swear her vows as a Silent Sister. Jon would not allow that agent of absolute chaos to roam free.

Jon was walking down the corridor away from Robert Baratheon’s quarters when someone called his name. “Jon.” He heard a small voice call from the other end of the corridor. He turned. It was Arya.

Jon walked towards her and gave her a nod. “Arya.” Jon said warmly.

Arya went quiet. “Do you have to leave?” She said in meek voice, normally so unlike her. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was looking at the ground.

Jon crouched and held up her chin and looked her in eyes. “Yes. I have a duty to all the people of Seven Kingdoms and to those already fighting for me in the South.”

Jon smiled. An idea popped into his head. He grabbed Arya’s hand and pulled towards him and embraced her. “Come Arya, I have got something to show you.” He said after he let her go.

They made their way into the Godswood and towards the Heart tree. Jon briefly closed his eyes and sent out a mental call. A second later, he heard the very distinct flap of large heavy wings. Arya’s face contorted in confusion for a second before she grinned widely.

Drogon landed in the Godswood. Jon approached and started to stroke Drogon on the snout. He heard Drogon purr slightly. Arya stalked like a wolf, slowly making her way towards the dragon. She moved like a predator, slowly zigzagging towards Drogon. She was light on her feet. She approached Drogon as Jon would when trying to tame a wild stallion. Slowly and with care, in an attempt not to spook the dragon. “Arya.” Jon said flatly. Arya stopped suddenly and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “It’s a dragon not a deer. He won’t spook.” Jon said with a hint of exasperation. Arya huffed but started walking normally, albeit at a slower pace towards the dragon. She eventually reached Drogon and held out her hand towards the snout. She looked apprehensive to touch Drogon. So, Jon took her hand and guided it towards the snout. Arya slowly started to pet the snout.

“He is so warm.” Arya whispered.

“He is a dragon. Of course, he’s warm.” Jon commented.

The rest of the day passed quickly for Jon. He talked with Lord Stark and asked him to call a northern council in about two months’ time. He would take Lord Stark’s fealty along with the entire North’s at the council. Which would give him plenty of time to secure the other Kingdoms and for Mance to find a wight.  He sparred with Robb. Watched Maekar spar with Robb. Talked to his siblings over dinner and then retired to bed. It was a normalcy he didn’t have since he left Winterfell for the Night’s Watch. He lived Jon Snow’s life for a couple of hours and then he retired to his rooms to sleep.

The next morning after Jon had a large breakfast of sausages, bacon, warm fresh bread and eggs he walked to the courtyard. He gave little Rickon a hug. Ruffled Bran’s hair. Hugged Arya tight. Embraced Sansa lightly. Bantered with Robb before embracing him. He moved up the line to Lady Stark who curtseyed. “Lady Stark.” He nodded his head. He moved along the line.

“Good luck, your grace.” Lord Stark said.

“Jon.” Is all he said. Father smiled slightly, and they embraced. After a few moments they let go and stood straight. Father waved his hand and four men walked over.

“Alyn and three men will join you on your travels.” Father said. Alyn was a good man. A Stark man. Jon nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wall had been in sight for a very long time. The Stark men were holding on tightly to the spines on Drogon’s back. They were doing okay for first time riders. Maekar looked bored. Drogon had made good time and it was the early afternoon when he began his descent to Castle Black. Drogon let out an earth-shattering roar as they slowly circled down towards the ground. They landed with a thump.

Drogon dipped his head and he climbed down to the ground. He straightened his clothes and walked towards the gate at Castle Black. It still looked dilapidated and in disrepair but in comparison to the last time he saw Castle Black, it looked like it could hold off a Dothraki horde. Jon looked up at the wall. It isn’t high enough, Jon thought. Maekar, the Stark men and Jaime followed. Ghost also stirred to follow but Jon bent down. “Ghost stay with Drogon.” He said while petting him. Ghost huffed in affirmation. They continued towards the gate.

“Who goes there!” Shouted a man in black from a top the gate. Jon didn’t recognise the man and he knew everyone in Castle Black by his tenure as Lord Commander and thus the man must have died on the great ranging.

Jaime stepped forward and shouted “His grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the third of his name. the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm seeks an audience with Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night’s Watch.”

The man on the gate shouted something incomprehensible down towards the courtyard. The Watch still had lots of experienced men that would be lost in Mormont’s great ranging, they wouldn’t be lost in this timeline. The watch still had near a thousand men and was about get a deluge of experienced men from Winterfell. The wall and the Watch will hold this time.

A voice broke his thoughts. “You were here for three years, Father?” He turned and looked at the source of the voice. Maekar had a sour and frustrated expression on his face.

Jon hummed. “It is not much to look at, is it?” He said. Jaime looked to be about to comment but the gates opened and cut off whatever jape he was about to make. Jaime’s face contained a brief flash on disappointment before it went back to his normal Kingsguard face.

Jon straightened his posture and slowly made his way into the courtyard of the Night’s Watch. He saw many faces he recognised and a few he didn’t. He looked around and surveyed the courtyard. Most were gaping at him and the he saw coming down from the stairs from the Lord Commander’s quarters was Lord Commander Mormont. The Old Bear looked exactly as he remembered him.

The Old Bear looked at him suspiciously and his eyes widened as he started to take in his features and the sigil that he wore on his chest.

“Lord Commander.” Jon said in his kingly voice. The Old Bear surveyed his companions and looked startled at both the presence of Stark men and Maekar. Jon surveyed the rest of the yard and saw the men of the watch were all peering at his party in silence.

“How can I help you…” The old bear paused for a second. “Your grace.” He added. His voice was suspicious.

Jon surveyed the yard openly turning to both sides and seeing the intrigued and guarded face’s of the men of the watch he turned back to face the old bear. They needed privacy. “Perhaps, it would be best to talk inside Lord Commander, where there are fewer prying ears.” Jon asked keeping his voice and face as flat as possible. The Lord Commander nodded and beckoned Jon to follow him. Jon stopped suddenly, the Lord Commander also stopped. “Maester Aemon should be there as well.” Jon said. The Lord Commander nodded and motioned towards a boy clad in black. The boy ran off towards the Maester’s quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeor led him to the Lord Commander’s solar, the one that had burned down in the other time, when he used the lamp to stop the wight from killing the Lord Commander. He was given Longclaw for that. Jon tapped the hilt of his sword fondly. The blade had slayed many of his enemies, both man and the of the others. It had kissed the neck of many a traitor and criminal. The King’s justice wasn’t delivered by a headsman. The King’s justice was carried out by the King’s word, with the King’s sword and by the King’s hand. Our way is the old way, his Father’s voice echoed around Jon’s thoughts. Jon sat down across from Mormont at the desk in the solar. Maekar sat beside him and Jaime stood behind them. The Stark guards were outside.

Mormont poured him some ale. Jon raised it to his nose and gave it a sniff. The usual Night’s Watch ale. Jon drunk a little bit. It tasted like someone dunked dirty furs in dirty piss water. He grimaced slightly while drinking it. Mormont then poured some ale for Maekar who took a sip and then spluttered. Jon looked at him and when Maekar turned to face him with a disgusted expression on his face he laughed out loud. Mormont joined, chuckling. Maekar flushed slightly with embarrassment but quickly schooled his face. Despite his colouring Maekar’s face was all Stark for a moment. It looked carved in stone, solemn and serious.

A moment later a familiar voice called out from the door. “You called for me Lord Commander?” It was Aemon, gods, Jon is glad to have Aemon’s wisdom now. His advice to let Jon Snow die and let the man be born, while providential in a dark way, was the best advice he had ever been given.

“Come in Aemon.” The Lord Commander called. A couple of seconds later, the door opened, and he could hear the familiar clatter of a Maester’s chain. He turned. There he was, the oldest of his kin. He still looked old and frail but as always there was an air of wisdom about him. A valuable air of wisdom. Sometimes, Jon wondered about what would have happened if Aemon had been crowned over Aegon the Fifth. What would have happened? Jon banished that thought away quickly, there was no use beyond an intellectual curiosity on what ifs about the past.

“I assume that this is about the dragon and its rider, Lord Commander.” Aemon said quietly but there was an element of something in Aemon’s voice that had never been there before. Jon couldn’t quite describe what it was. There were embers of a flame in Aemon’s voice. Jon racked his head for a word to describe the change, hope is the word that sprung to mind.

“It is.” Mormont said curtly. “He asked for me to wait for your arrival for this discussion.” Mormont peered curiously at him for a second before asking “How may the Watch help you?” Mormont paused for a second. “Your grace.” He added.

Jon paused for a second to think on how best explain the situation to the Old Bear and his… great Uncle? Jon paused for a second, remembering Sansa’s many lessons on his house’s history. Rhaegar was his Father, Aerys was his Grandfather, Jaehaerys his Great-Grandfather, therefore Aegon was great-great grandfather. Aemon was Aegon’s older brother, making Aemon Jon’s great great granduncle or great great great Uncle.

Jon sighed. “It would be best that I started from the beginning.” Jon said.

“That is normally the best place to start.” Aemon commented.

Jon snorted. Jon sighed. “I guess it all started when my Lord Uncle executed a deserter of the Night’s Watch…” Jon then went on an hours long explanation of his first life and the events of his first life. All throughout both the old bear and Aemon were silent and were listening intently. Maekar also sat forward in his chair… also listening intently, though he seemed to be trying and failing to look uninterested. Jon came to a halt after explaining the events of Winterfell after he had awoken.

There was silence in the solar both Aemon and Jeor seemed deep in thought. “I have proof.” Jon commented lowly. He stood and withdrew his sword and offered it to Mormont. “This is Longclaw or rather is Longclaw from the other time.”

Mormont peered intently at it and nodded. “So, it is.” Mormont then hummed in thought after returning Longclaw and returning to his seat. Jon sheathed his sword and returned to his seat.

The solar was quiet for near ten minutes before Jon decided to break it. “I have to ask you Lord Commander not to attack the Wildlings and not let anyone else venture out beyond the Wall. We need all the experienced rangers that we have, and we can’t be adding to the enemy’s army.” Mormont gave him a serious nod of confirmation. A nod of agreement and of intent, all in one gesture.

Mormont then stood and looked around at all the people in the room. “I will give the orders.” Mormont confirmed. “I will leave you all…” Mormont paused. “…to talk.” Mormont added as he left the room.

Aemon stood suddenly. Jon immediately got up to help support the Maester. He walked over and helped his arm. As he reached the Maester, the man brought him into a tight embrace. Jon returned it as delicately as he could. Aemon held up his hands in front of Jon’s face. “May I?” Aemon questioned.

Jon smiled and tried to express it in his voice as he said “Of course.”

Aemon ran his hands over his face. Aemon hummed. “You have the long Stark face.” Aemon paused. “It well hides the evident dragon blood well.” Aemon then paused. “I think you look a lot like my brother.” Aemon added.

“Aegon?” Jon question.

“No, Aerion.” Aemon said.

“Aerion?” Jon questioned in a voice filled with shock. Jon remembered Sansa telling him of Aerion. The man had died after he had drank wildfire in an insane attempt to turn himself into a dragon. There were many cases of madness and cruelty in the history of his house but Aerion stood out as one of the maddest.

Aemon laughed. “I imagine that is the only resemblance.”

“Who is the other dragon in the room?” Aemon questioned, leaning slightly on the desk.

“Maekar, my son.” Jon answered. He beckoned Maekar to stand and walk over.

“Named for my Father.” Aemon said with a smile as he raised his hands.

“Aye.” Jon said as he guided Aemon’s hands towards his son’s face.

Aemon traced over his sons face. Aemon hummed. “You face is slightly longer than one with pure valyrian blood but not by much. You resemble Egg more then your Father, young dragon.” Maekar nodded and returned to his seat.

Aemon sat down the desk. His feet were swaying slightly. “I have given you advice before Jaehaerys?”

Jon nodded. “You told me the same thing you told Egg, that he must let the boy Egg die and let Aegon the man and king live.” Jon paused and furrowed his brows. “It is the best advice that anyone has ever given me.” Jon said his voice straight and serious.

Aemon smiled. “Let me give you some more.” He said lowly. “The gods have placed a great burden on you young Jaehaerys.”

Jon interrupted. “I have lived forty and three years, Uncle.” He said slightly annoyed.

Aemon smiled slightly and continued. “The gods have placed a great burden on you _young_ Jaehaerys.” Jon huffed. “The gods have carved a path, a destiny for you, based solely on duty. Don’t let the weight of your duty crush your spirit and your heart. For I fear for both. No other King has had so much of a burden and duty can crush all the other things that make life worth living.” Aemon trailed off in a sad voice.

Jon nodded. “I understand.” He said in a raspy voice. Jon breathed deeply and composed himself. “I must go uncle. The first time I will return for proof of the enemy, the time after that I will return with the might of Westeros at my back.”

Aemon smiled. “Go. You have a continent to conquer, a house to restore and a duty to attend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. People were questioning why Maekar wasn't given the west, it's because Jon knows he wants to join the Kingsguard.
> 
> 2\. Jon's emotions on Ned are conflicted, he sees him as Lord Stark, Uncle and Father all at once. He hasn't had to deal with the contradiction because Ned was dead and no progress could be made on the issue emotionally, so he has just ignored his feelings and brooded. He resents Ned for allowing him to join the watch and knows now that as he has grown up that while he chose the nightswatch he had no other option but to choose it and he resents Ned for it. He also obviously resents him for lying for fourteen years. Then again to Jon Ned remains Father and I don't think Jon will ever not see Ned as his father and thus Jon holds massive affection, respect and love for Ned.
> 
> 3\. Jon really doesn't like the Tyrells. He sees them as basically flowery freys. An ally only in victory. Jon sees them as propping up the regime that butchered his family. He is bound to hold a grudge. He will let it go if it costs men. Jon is going to be willing to remove lots of Lords but only if it can be done by minimizing damage to the the size of the force he can sustain and levy in the future for the great war. So he will remove the Tyrells, if he can enact an essentially bloodless coup (which he thinks he can).
> 
> 4\. I always thought that Jon would of been a mother's boy if Lyanna would of lived. He also finds it cathartic to talk to Lyanna's statue.
> 
> 5\. I think Benjen guessed who Jon's mother was but Ned never told him.
> 
> 6\. Jon struggles a lot with the fact that he losing some of his northern identity as he has ruled as king.
> 
> 7\. To me Robert seems like on the precipice of being broken by early GOT, I think the humiliation of a bloodless coup in his friends home by his "loves" son, would push him over the edge, once he had pushed past his initial bout of rage and processed what had happened.
> 
> 8\. The Stormlords not declaring for Daemon has always slightly befuddled me. I think the best explanation for them supporting Daeron over Daemon are marriages and the lack of any secondary but powerful houses. I also think that Baelor Breakspear, the martial face of the Daeron faction and a great warrior in his own right being the one to rally them also made a significant difference. The Stormlords respect strong warriors.
> 
> 9\. The Stormlords seem to have held onto no long term grudge against the Targarayens, evidence by the fact that we know FAegon rallied House Morrigen and Wylde to his side after he had landed.


	9. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My skin has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel.” Sansa’s thoughts, A Storm of Swords, Chapter 61, Sansa V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here is Sansa I. This chapter was quicker to write then I thought so that explains why it so early. the next chapter's deadline is the 18th but it should be out before then. Jon is the next POV.
> 
> Thanks to GOT88 for beta(ing). Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> If you have any questions, I will answer them in the comments below. I read and try to answer every comment.
> 
> Edit: Update. My Hard drive failed Monday and I lost half the chapter. (thank gods for backups or I would have to have rewritten the entire chapter.) Thus I will have to rewrite what I've written.

**“My skin has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel.” Sansa’s thoughts, A Storm of Swords, Chapter 61, Sansa V.**

**Sansa I**

Sansa started walking to her niece’s room to check up on her. Lyanna was a sensitive child and needed constant companionship, otherwise she would become overly gloomy. Of all Jon’s children, Lyanna was the one that she spent the most time with. They would mostly embroider together over tea. It would normally give her a brief, but very necessary reprieve from the constant bickering and politicking of court. Since neither Jon nor Daenerys had any patience for the intrigues and intricacies of court, the duty to maintain the court fell upon her. Which while she was happy to do, as she enjoyed it. She sometimes needed a brief reprieve lest she turn into Jon’s grandfather, the one that they didn’t share. Sometimes the gossip of the young ladies of court and the bickering and duelling of lordlings could leave her exasperated. So, she would spend time embroidering with her niece however briefly, in order to escape it.

Sansa reached the room that her niece was being quartered in by the Velaryons. It was one of the finest rooms in the castle. Which didn’t surprise her, for the Velaryons were probably the most loyal vassal house to House Targaryen in the entire realm. In many ways due to the amount of marriages between House Targaryen and Velaryon, they were practically kin, even if there hadn’t been a marriage between the Houses for the last couple of generations. The last was the marriage between Aegon the Third and Daenaera Velaryon. House Velaryon is the closest thing that House Targaryen had to a cadet branch. Ser Daemon was standing guard outside the room as straight as a statue, always looking for danger. He dipped his head when he saw her and opened the door. “Your Lady Aunt, Princess.” Ser Daemon announced.

“Aunt Sansa.” A small feminine voice softly said.

Sansa looked towards the source of the voice.  Lyanna was sitting in a chair sipping on tea and looked to have just paused her work, it looked like she was embroidering a dragon on a handkerchief. Likely for Jon, Sansa thought with a smile. Lyanna thought the world of Jon. Not that it was surprising, Jon doted on her. He doted on all his children. Though it pained him when he doted on Rhaella, it was on his face, his smiles were always slightly tighter and there was a haze of grief in his eyes but he still did it though. Jon wouldn’t let anyone of his children think that they were unwanted.

“Lyanna.” Sansa said deftly and with a small smile. She then spread her dress, so it didn’t get in the way or crumpled as she sat down. “What are you working on?” She asked with a smile.

Lyanna turned to her bright eyed and smiled and held the item of clothing up. It was a handkerchief with white direwolves and red dragons sowed around the edge. “I made this for Father.” Lyanna said with a smile. Lyanna offered it to her.

Sansa took it and examined it. The stitching was exemplary and so was the embroidery. The colours of the bright white and red were vibrant and contrasted with the black handkerchief well. It was truly well made. ‘My protégé’, Sansa smiled to herself.

Sansa made a play at examining it closely and nodding at small aspects of the work. “This is very well done, Lyanna.”

Sansa eyed Lyanna’s clothes for a second and bit her lip. They would not do. They contained too much of Essos in their style. “What is it aunt?” Lyanna asked melodically.

Sansa gave a small smile. “I was thinking that when we have the rest of your wardrobe made, we will have to make it less… Essosi.”

Lyanna frowned. Daenerys’s frown, Sansa thought. “Why?” Lyanna asked with an element of fight and stubbornness in her voice, that reminded her way too much of Arya when they were young, when she wouldn’t want to sew or put on a dress.

Sansa tried to phrase this delicately, however before she could say anything a large roar echoed out. It startled her. Dragon, Sansa thought. “Aemon.” Lyanna whispered and ran to the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa waited in the courtyard of Driftmark as Kiōs circled the castle a couple of times. Aemon was clearly showing off his skill at dragon riding with Kiōs nimbly turning and gliding in an ever more elaborate flying. Sansa allowed herself a small smile. It reminded her of the time when Jon brought the children to Winterfell. Aemon was only six but rode a horse like he was born in the saddle, he raced over the open grass plains to the south of Winterfell and rode quickly through the Wolfswood jumping over logs, rocks and small streams. Aemon was never happier then when he was showing off his skill at riding, whether that be horse or dragon. There were murmurs among the older servants and bannermen that he was his grandmother’s son.

The dragon landed with a thud. Aemon slid down the wing. He smiled when he saw her. “Aunt.” Aemon called out with his slightly grim but relieved smile.

Sansa smiled warmly. “Nephew.” She replied. She walked over and embraced him. He returned it after a second.  She searched behind him. She saw Daenerys, who she gave a comforting smile and a silver haired man. Viserys. She grimaced slightly. Sansa had heard a lot of bad things about Viserys from Dany. The main thing that came to mind however was that he was his Father’s son. A Father who burned her and Jon’s grandfather alive while taunting their uncle into strangling himself. Dany told her that Viserys was cruel, arrogant, vindictive and a bit paranoid.

Sansa however remembered her courtesies, for they were her shield as they had always been. She curtsied to Viserys. “Prince Viserys.” She saw a flash of anger cross his face before it straightened into an arrogant, haughty look that… she felt a wave of disgust permeate through her body. It reminded her of Joffrey. Viserys would be a problem. He still saw himself as the rightful King. She sighed internally. Jon had told her of luxurious rooms on Dragonstone that locked from the outside and had large open balconies to allow House Targaryen’s less then stable relations to reside in the luxury befitting a member of the royal family without causing any embarrassment. She made a mental note to have one of them made up for Viserys until he behaved and accepted his new station.

Sansa turned to Daenerys. Sansa graced her with her warmest smile, reserved normally for her kin. A smile not hidden behind a mask of courtesy. Daenerys looked so much younger… so much meeker. The older Daenerys was more akin to Rhaenys, the wife of the Conqueror, a Dragon Queen, who while not a warrior in her own right, exuded the confidence, the prestige and the power of a Targaryen Queen. This Daenerys was more akin to the stories of Naerys, the wife of the Unworthy. A meek woman but one of great beauty and one with natural grace. It made Sansa think more on the struggles and fights that Daenerys had endured in order to drag herself from the seven hells that is the Red Waste in Essos with three small young dragons to the Conquering Queen that Jon had met when he visited Dragonstone for the first time. “Princess Daenerys.” She said with a curtsy.

Sansa took a deep breath. “Rooms have been prepared for you here in Driftmark.” She said keeping her voice as straight and polite as possible. “These two…” She pointed to two servants in the livery of House Velaryon “… will escort you there where you will find hot baths prepared along with clothes befitting the status of members of the royal family and as kin to his grace.” She finished with a smile of courtesy.

“And who are you?” Viserys questioned with a sneer.

Sansa turned to the prince. “That will be answered in time, my Prince.” She said with a small smile.

Viserys eyed her suspiciously before following the servants into Driftmark. Aemon came to stand next to her as they both watched the two exiled Targaryens walk into the Keep. When they were both out of earshot Aemon turned to her. “He is going to be a problem.” He said quietly but with an iron conviction.

Sansa hummed in agreement. “He is a problem.” She agreed with a slight correction. “Not are largest and not insurmountable. However, we could do with less problems and not more.” They had a realm to conquer and now they had a wayward mad Prince who saw the throne as his birth right to deal with as well.

Aemon grinned slightly. It was Jon’s grin. The one that he had in Castle Black when they shared some soup. It warmed her heart. “As you say, Aunt.” Aemon replied with a small huff.

Aemon then turned to her. “Where is Aunt Arya?” Aemon asked.

Sansa smiled wolfishly and with a knowing smile and said, “Getting me and your Father a present, Nephew.” The Mockingbird may hatch its eggs in other birds’s nests, yet they are small creatures and will always be vulnerable to wolves and dragons for they can rid the world of the pest with a single bite, Sansa thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About an hour later Sansa approached the rooms were Daenerys was staying in and knocked on the door. “Come in.” A small voice called.

Sansa walked in. The room was fine and there were dragon banners hanging alongside the familiar seahorse of House Velaryon. She smiled as she saw Daenerys was sitting casually in one of the chairs. Daenerys returned the smile for a second before she frowned and then her face went blank. Daenerys was suspicious of her and her intentions. It didn’t surprise her, she hadn’t even told them her name, what was there to trust. The only evidence of Aemon and her acting in good faith was their presence at Driftmark, the seat of a family of well-known Targaryen loyalists.

Sansa gave a quick curtsey “Princess.” She said.  Daenerys gave her a nod. Sansa walked over slowly and took a seat across from her. Sansa then decided to remain quiet. She found people were more likely to reveal their thoughts if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. She had used the trick many times on an untold number of lords and ladies in her time attending and leading Jon’s court. Sansa poured herself a glass of wine and poured some in a second glass for Daenerys.

Sansa took a deep sniff. The sweet smell of Arbour gold filled her nose. Of course, only the finest wine would be served to a Targaryen Princess by House Velaryon. She took a sip and revelled in the fine taste. She looked up at Daenerys and waited.

After a minute or two, Daenerys lilac orbs focused on her. There was a discerning look in them. “Who are you?” She asked.

Sansa gave Daenerys a knowing smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Sansa said raising an eyebrow. Sansa then moved forward and searched Daenerys’s face. “Do you want to know?” Sansa asked and then leaned back.

A look of uncertainty crossed Daenerys face for a brief second before her face moulded itself into a look of determination. “I do.”

Sansa gave her a small nod and took a deep breath. “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” There was a brief flash of worry on Daenerys’s face and then anger before it returned to blankness. “I come from about five and twenty years in the future.” Daenerys face dropped into utter disbelief and confusion. That reaction was to be expected. Sansa would have laughed if she had been in Daenerys’s position.

“The future?” Daenerys asked in a voice filled with confusion and disbelief.

Sansa gave her a nod and reached into her dress and pulled out a ring and offered it to Daenerys. “Recognise this?” Sansa said with a smile and in a knowing voice. Daenerys took a quick glance at it and then her eyes widened in shock and she quickly snatched the ring.

Daenerys caressed the ring. “My mother’s…” She said trailing off. Daenerys then took a ring off her finger and compared them. “They’re the same.” Daenerys said with confusion. “Down to the mark on the inside of the band that no one but _me_ knew about.” There was a couple of seconds of silence before Daenerys turned to her. “Tell me everything.” She commanded. Sansa smiled. This was more like the Daenerys that she knew.

Sansa hummed. “Where to begin…” Sansa said aloud. “His grace was hidden by my Father, Eddard Stark, as his bastard Jon Snow. He grew up alongside his cousins as their brother and still considers himself so.” Sansa paused. She smiled internally, Jon was always insistent that Rickon, Bran, herself and Arya were still his siblings and he glared at many a lord that referred to them as cousins. “The real story begins however with the execution of a Night’s Watch deserter…” Sansa spent the rest of the afternoon and most of evening going through what would have happened had they not come to the past.

“My Father really was mad?” Daenerys asked sadly a few minutes after Sansa had finished her talk.

Sansa inclined her head once in confirmation. Daenerys looked like she was about to cry. “I’m sorry, Princess.” Sansa said quietly. Sansa smiled slightly. “Your Grandfather King Jaehaerys had once told Ser Barristan Selmy that Madness and Greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Sansa paused. “Your Father’s landed on Madness.” Sansa took a deep breath. “He placed enough wildfire under Kings Landing to destroy the entire city and if it wasn’t for Ser Jaime Lannister placing his oaths as a knight above those to his king, thousands would have been dead and the entire city would have been turned into a pile of ashes.” Ser Jaime is just another one of Cersei’s victims, Sansa thought to herself, maybe her greatest one. Cersei manipulated an honourable idealistic boy into an extension of herself and her will. Bran had showed it to her and Jon. The subtle manipulations from their childhood to the more overt ones after Joanna Lannister’s death. Jaime didn’t become a separate person from Cersei until the War of the Five Kings. That is when he truly became his own person.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daenerys hadn’t left her rooms since Sansa had told her everything. She was taking it rather well, all things considered. It would be quite shocking for a girl as young as her to find that she had one child, let alone seven and that she would eventually meet four of them. Sansa was surprised that even with the ring, Daenerys had believed her. Then again Targaryens did always have an affinity for magic, tales of Queen Visenya’s great abilities with magic and sorcery come to mind, and maybe she was just confirming some underlying Targaryen instinct for magic. Sansa spent most of her time helping to organise the Keep with Lord Velaryons’s wife Laena and making sure that Lyanna had company.  Aemon had already flown back to Dragonstone to help with the siege.

Sansa then heard a roar. Sansa blinked, why had Aemon returned? Was there a problem with the siege or had Stannis yielded? Sansa shook her head, Stannis would never yield, she knew that from what Jon had told her of him. It might not be Aemon, Sansa thought to herself as she hurried into the courtyard.

A large green dragon landed. Rhaegal. ‘Lyarra’, Sansa thought. Sansa smiled as her oldest niece dismounted Rhaegal and made her way over to her smiling. “Aunt Sansa!” Lyarra called and enveloped her into a soft embrace that got more firm after a moment.

“Lyarra.” Sansa said with a smile and enjoyed the embrace of family. She then separated. “Is everything…”

Sansa was cut off. “Everything is fine, everything went to plan.” Sansa then noticed Ser Gendry and Ser Edric behind her.

“Sers.” She said and nodded in their direction.

“My lady.” They both said simultaneously and with a short bow.

“Where is you Father?” Sansa asked. She knew that Jon wouldn’t come here straight away.

“He went to the Wall.” Lyarra said. The right decision, Sansa thought. The Night’s Watch were the first line of defence and Jon would seek to prevent them from losing experienced rangers north of the Wall. They will need that experience for later. For the Great War as Jon called it. “He also gave me these.” Lyarra said and handed her three scrolls. Two of them were sealed with the three headed dragon, the last, however was sealed by a crowned stag. Sansa stared at it for a second and couldn’t help but turn her head to the side.

Sansa held it up. “What’s this?” She questioned.

Lyarra smiled slightly. A smug smile. A smile that she only used when Jon did something clever. A smile of a daughter’s pride in her Father. “Orders for Stannis Baratheon to yield Dragonstone.” Lyarra said a wide smile.

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “This was clever of him.” She said under her breath. It was. Jon knew Stannis well and made use of it. This made things much easier. “The other two?” She questioned.

“One is the battleplan and the other is one sealed and only meant for Aemon.” Lyarra answered. Sansa looked at the scrolls and opened the one that wasn’t addressed to Aemon. She skimmed through the plan that Jon had devised. It was a good one. Using the resentment of the Northern Crownlords to raise a force and march on Kings Landing. Therefore, baiting Tywin Lannister to run down the Gold Road. She remembered all that she knew of Tywin Lannister. All the times that she had observed him when she was a hostage in Kings Landing. He wouldn’t believe that the dragons had returned until they were roasting him and his army alive. The man was predictable when his Houses’s legacy or reputation was at stake.

“It is a good plan.” Sansa said. Though no plan can play out perfectly, she thought sadly. “We’ll go to Dragonstone tomorrow.” Lyarra looked a bit haggard and tired from travelling. “You look tired and need your rest.” Lyarra looked like she was going to refute her words but then nodded. Sansa promptly ordered servants to make up a room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dragonstone came into view. Sansa truly enjoyed flying on a dragon, it was exhilarating, the wind through your hair, the open sky and blue sea below. They were descending towards the castle of Dragonstone. The castle was a wonder. It looked… as Winterfell is a statement of the Stark’s strength and power in one castle, Dragonstone is the Targaryen’s statement about their heritage as the heirs of Valyria and their opulence and majesty. They slowly descended, and she saw a large army camp blocking the only land route into Dragonstone.

The dragon landed with a thud in the centre of the camp.  They were ushered into Aemon’s tent. Aemon looked up from the desk that he was writing on. He leapt up and hugged Lyarra. “Sister.” He said into her shoulder. “It is good to see you.” He added. He then turned to her and embraced her for a moment. “Aunt.” He said with a nod and a smile. Sansa almost rolled her eyes. Jon always did that, clearly Aemon was trying copy some of Jon’s mannerisms. Lyarra handed Aemon the two scrolls. Aemon frowned. “What are these?” He questioned

“The first is a letter from Father to you.” Lyarra said and then with a smile added. “The second is an order from the Usurper to his Brother to yield Dragonstone.” Aemon looked at Lyarra for a second confused.

“An order to… What?” Aemon said aloud, confusion evident in his voice,

“An order for Stannis to yield Dragonstone, have you gone deaf, Aemon?” Sansa said dryly.

“No. I’m just surprised that Father got this out of the Usurper.” Aemon then pursed his lips. “Will this work?” Aemon questioned.

Lyarra raised an eyebrow. “There is only one way to find out.”

Less then ten minutes later a rider under a banner peace rode to the gate of the castle with a message requesting a parley. They waited ahorse, a bit out of range of any scorpions or catapults. The messenger returned after some time and went to a knee before Aemon. Aemon bid him to rise.

The messenger dipped his head. “My Prince, Lord Stannis has accepted the parley and will be along shortly.” So, they waited. After some time, Sansa couldn’t tell how long. Three riders rode out of the gates. Stannis, she knew him from his reputation. Ser Davos was also there and lastly someone with the distinctive Florent ears.

The party rode over to them slowly tentatively. “Aemon, how many men do you have now?” Sansa asked aloud.

Aemon looked to be in thought. “We had four and half thousand when we landed.” Aemon then hummed. “Five hundred men from Dragonstone volunteered and Lords Bar Emmon and Sunglass have arrived with ten ships each and fifty and seven hundred each.” Aemon then nodded. “About six and half thousand.” Aemon said.  “And a fleet of about sixty from captured vessels and those brought by the lords of the Narrow Sea.” Aemon added.

A few minutes later Stannis arrived and reigned back his horse. “What do you want?” Stannis asked. “I’ve already refused your offer to betray my Brother, I thought we had nothing else to talk about.” Stannis explained.

Aemon just looked up and raised the scroll in his hand until Stannis stared at it. Aemon threw the scroll to Stannis. Stannis fumbled it a bit but caught it. He looked at it weirdly. Stannis looked sharply at Aemon before his eyes returned to the seal.

“This is my Brother’s seal.” Stannis said aloud.

“It is.” Aemon said with a smile.

Stannis proceeded to open it. He skimmed the page once. His teeth started to grind. He skimmed it again. He grinded his teeth harder. Stannis read the note again though this time taking his time. Sansa swore she heard some of Stannis’s teeth crack as he finished it.

Stannis got off his horse and offered Aemon his sword. “Dragonstone is yours.” Stannis said through his teeth.

The castle yielded rapidly under Stannis’s orders. All the royal sailors, Florent men and Baratheon men were disarmed and then locked in their barracks under guard. Aemon, Lyarra and she made their way to the Lord’s solar.

Aemon took a seat at the Lord’s table, she sat opposite him. Lyarra plumped herself down on the chair beside her. Compared to its state when she saw it in the other timeline, it looked dull. Daenerys had redecorated and covered the walls in Targaryen tapestries, banners and portraits. Stannis left the walls blank.

“Lord Stannis, his wife and daughter are locked in some guarded rooms.” Sansa said.

“Good.” Aemon said. Aemon then held up the still sealed scroll that was addressed to him. “Let’s see what Father wishes for us to do next.” Aemon hummed and opened the scroll. Aemon read it slowly and carefully and let no reaction show on his face. Good, Sansa thought, only a couple years ago you could read Aemon’s emotions of his face like a book.

“Father wishes for me to hunt down the Blackfyre pretender and bring him to Westeros.” Aemon said. Not a surprise, Sansa thought, Jon knows that we cannot have a pretender running around Essos pretending to be his older brother. “He has instructed me to check the Rhoyne for a ship called the Shy Maid.” Aemon added with a sigh. “He wishes you, Aunt to organise Dragonstone and make it suitable for him to reside in.” Sansa nodded. “He says Lyarra is to take the army and follow the battle plan that she was given and that he will be coming south soon, in time for the battle.” Aemon said. Lyarra gave Aemon a single nod.

“I guess that we should all take our leave then.” Sansa said aloud. “Stay safe, you two.” Sansa said seriously.

“We will.” They both said in unison. Sansa embraced them as they left to get things ready. She made her way to the Maester’s tower to send a raven to Driftmark to order Viserys, Lyanna and Daenerys moved here to Dragonstone. As she left the Maester’s quarters, she saw Aemon’s dragon flying away from Dragonstone for Essos. ‘Keep him safe’, she thought in silent prayer.

Less than an hour later. Sansa watched in fascination as all the Stag banners were gathered in the courtyard. Lyarra had ordered it. Lyarra walked into the middle of the courtyard with a torch. She turned to the men, who had filled the main courtyard of Dragonstone along with all the Lords of the Point and the Narrow Sea. “House Targaryen has returned.” Lyarra announced loudly to cheers. “Fire and Blood!” Lyarra yelled and threw the torch on the Stag banners. The men took up the chant as yellow banners wilted and burned away to ash. The next day some six and half thousand men boarded ships and sailed for Maidenpool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lord Monford's wife is unnamed. I have named her Laena.
> 
> 2\. House Velaryon and Targaryen have had seven marriages between including the first we know of (The conqueror's mother.)
> 
> 3\. I think it is safe to say that Cersei was the dominant one in her and Jaime's relationship. It wouldn't surprise me if it came out that Cersei had started to manipulate Jaime at a very young age. It also wouldn't surprise me for Cersei to have exploited Joanna's death and Jaime's grief to manipulate him further.
> 
> 4\. Stannis I think would yield Dragonstone if he was delivered a sealed letter ordering to him to in his Brother's handwriting.


End file.
